Darling, do you remember the man you married? Touch me, remind me who I am.

Forward my mail to Mars.

The heart breaks and breaks and lives by breaking it is necessary to go through dark and deeper dark and not to turn

A poet needs to keep his wilderness alive inside him.

The poem in the head is always perfect. Resistance begins when you try to convert it into language.

To conquer a piece of earth and make it as beautiful as one can dream of it being: That is art, too. A man cannot be separated from the earth. I come out of the garden every day feeling, oh, inspired in a way that one needs in order to convert the daily-ness of the life into something greater than that little life itself.

In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: "Live in the layers, not on the litter." Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.