The Moon, the dried weeds and the Pleiades - Seven feet tall the dark, dried weed stalks make a part of the night a red lace on the milky blue sky

It is almost impossible to state what one in fact believes, because it is almost impossible to hold a belief and to define it at the same time.

A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.

To refine, to clarify, to intensify that eternal moment in which we alone live there is but a single force the imagination.

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

Poetry demands a different material than prose. It uses another facet of the same fact... the spontaneous conformation of language as it is heard.

Houses - the dark side silhouetted on flashes of moonlight!