Snub end of a dismal year, deep in the dwarf orchard, The sky with its undercoat of blackwash and point stars, I stand in the dark and answer to My….

I empty myself with light Until I become morning..

What makes us leave what we love best? What is it inside us that keeps erasing itself When we need it most, That sends us into uncertainty for its ow….

It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable..

The ache for anything is a thick dust in the heart..

The music of memory has its own pitch,/which not everyone hears..

If you want great tranquility/ It's hard work and a long walk.

It’s up there, and you can see the front of it. But what it is isn’t what you’re looking at. It’s behind what you’re looking at..

We've all led raucous lives, some of them inside, some of them out. But only the poem you leave behind is what's important. Everyone knows this. The ….

Some people have everything Other people don't But everything don't mean a thing If it ain't the thing you want.

Everyone knows this. The voyage into the interior is all that matters, Whatever your ride..

How sweet the past is, no matter how wrong, or how sad. How sweet is yesterday's noise.

Poetry is the dark side of the moon..

November’s a burn and an ache..

How many times can summer turn to fall in one life?.

Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world. Morning arrives and that's it. Sunlight darkens the earth..

How many years have slipped through our hands?
At least as many as the constellations we still can identify.
The quarter moon, like a light skiff,
 ….

It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past..

All forms of landscape are autobiographical..