For poems are not, as people think, simply emotions (one has emotions early enough)-they are experiences.

If we surrendered to earth’s intelligence we could rise up rooted, like trees. Instead we entangle ourselves in knots of our own making and struggle, lonely and confused. So like children, we begin again... to fall, patiently to trust our heaviness. Even a bird has to do that before he can fly. (from the poem "How Sure Gravity's Law")

I want to unfold. I don’t want to stay folded anywhere, because where I am folded, there I am a lie.

Those doves below, the ones utterly cared for, never endangered ones, cannot know tenderness.

More belongs to marriage than four legs in a bed.

Perhaps everything terrifying is deep down a helpless thing that needs our help.

There may be good, but there are no pleasant marriages.