Read! Read all the time, the understanding will come by itself.

I went with my very being toward language.

The language with which I make my poems has nothing to do with one spoken here, or anywhere.

in the air, there your root remains, there, in the air

Each arrow you shoot off carries its own target into the decidedly secret tangle

Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss.

Poetry is a sort of homecoming.