The poem comes in the form of a blessing, like rapture breaking on the mind.

An old poet ought never to be caught with his technique showing.

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.

How shall the heart be reconciled / To its feast of losses?

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

Poetry is ultimately mythology, the telling of stories of the soul. The old myths, the old gods, the old heroes have never died. They are only sleeping at the bottom of our minds, waiting for our call. We have need of them, for in their sum they epitomize the wisdom and experience of the race.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow, it means a new life for me each and every day.