The poet's function is to make his imagination . . . become the light in the mind of others. His role, in short, is to help people to live their lives.

It is deep January. The sky is hard. The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.

Trees Trees, proud standing people stretching fingertips to the sky, reaching, praying glorious attention, breathing light. strength shelter timeless confidence bending and firm comforting rooted chorus line dancing with the moon, the wind, the clouds framing bursts of stars tender rugged celebration absorbing and releasing life each holy branch holding the power of the Universe. There.

Nothing could be more inappropriate to American literature than its English source since the Americans are not British in sensibility.

The day of the sun is like the day of a king. It is a promenade in the morning, a sitting on the throne at noon, a pageant in the evening.

Key West, unfortunately, is becoming rather literary and artistic.

Fromage and coffee and cognac and no gods.