Memory is each man's poet-in-residence.
How shall the heart be reconciled / To its feast of losses?
The universe is a continuous web. Touch it at any point and the whole web quivers.
Darling, do you remember the man you married? Touch me, remind me who I am.
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.
A poet needs to keep his wilderness alive inside him. To remain a poet after forty requires an awareness of your darkest Africa, that part of yourself that will never be tamed.