I try to stay a civilian, to live as a human, not as a poet.

Tonight I think again of many days that are sacrificed for one night of love. Of the waste and the fruit of the waste, of plenty and of fire. And how painlessly-time.

It was not an adventure; it was my life.

I try to stay a civilian, to live as a human, not as a poet.

The memory of my father is wrapped up in white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day of work. Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits out of his hat, he drew love from his small body.

Every intelligent person, whether hes an artist or not - a mathematician, a doctor, a scientist - possesses a poetic way of seeing and describing the world.

The phrase I like to use to describe my sense of time-a play on comparative literature - is comparative time.