The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.

What power has love but forgiveness? In other words by its intervention what has been done can be undone. What good is it otherwise?

Remorse is a virtue in that it is a stirrer up of the emotions but it is a folly to accept it is a criticism of conduct.

I think all writing is a disease. You can't stop it.

As birds' wings beat the solid air without which none could fly so words freed by the imagination affirm reality by their flight.

Shoes twisted into incredible lilies.

You lethargic, waiting upon me, waiting for the fire and I attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty Shaken by your beauty Shaken.