I am the truth, since I am part of what is real, but neither more nor less than those around me.

For the listener, who listens in the snow, / And, nothing himself, beholds / Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

It is not everyday that the world arranges itself into a poem.

God is in me or else is not at all.

People ought to like poetry the way a child likes snow & they would if poets wrote it.

The purpose of poetry is to make life complete in itself.

LIGHT FROM WITHIN my friend, cancer got you damn it: you had it beat for seven years at least. how did it come back? Why all that pain. again. and you, such a fighter you fought me over and over with tears and words and promises. you fought for me with honesty and a light so bright it hurts my heart. sweet lorna. at peace now finally no more battles, just light from within a flickering candle in the dark burns with you.