I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.
Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.
What have I done, dear God, to deserve this perpetual feeling that I'm almost ready to begin something really new?
The poet: would rather eat a heart than a hambone.
You must believe a poem is a holy thing, a good poem, that is.
Teach as an old fishing guide takes out a beginner.