I can hardly wait for tomorrow, it means a new life for me each and every day.
How shall the heart be reconciled / To its feast of losses?
A longing for the dance stirs in the buried life.
I want to write poems that are natural, luminous, deep, spare. I dream of an art so transparent that you can look through and see the world.
Deftly they opened the brain of a child, and it was full of flying dreams.
A poet needs to keep his wilderness alive inside him.