Shyness is a condition foreign to the heart - a category, a dimension which leads to loneliness.

I don't know who it is who lives or dies, who rests or wakes, but it is your heart that distributes all the graces of the daybreak in my breast.

The tomato offers its gift of fiery color and cool completeness.

I stood on the balcony dark with mourning... hoping the earth would spread its wings in my uninhabited love.

I do not love you-except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.

I want to see the thirst inside the syllables I want to touch the fire in the sound: I want to feel the darkness of the cry. I want words as rough as virgin rocks.” - Verb.

The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.