That day she put our heads together, Fate had her imagination about her, Your head so much concerned with outer, Mine with inner, weather.
Both T.S. Eliot and I like to play, but I like to play euchre, while he likes to play Eucharist.
Writing free verse is like playing tennis with the net down.
Writing a poem is discovering.
The only way around is through.
When work becomes play, and play becomes your work, your life unfolds.