The origins of poetry are clearly rooted in obscurity, in secretiveness, in incantation, in spells that must at once invoke and protect, tell the sec….

I am convinced that the first lyric poem was written at night, and that the moon was witness to the event and that the event was witness to the moon.….

Now I will give you a piece of advice. I will tell you something that I absolutely believe you should do, and if you do not do it you will never be a….

I'm lucky enough to occasionally be able to do something I love - write poems - and unlucky enough that what I love confuses and overwhelms me..

A poem is a finished work of the mind, it is not the work of a finished mind..

I hated childhood / I hate adulthood / And I love being alive..

We are all one question, and the best answer seems to be love—a connection between things..

In our marginal existence, what else is there but this voice within us, this great weirdness we are always leaning forward to listen to?.

The words secret and sacred are siblings..

the wasting of time is the most personal, most private, most intimate form of conversation with oneself, as well as with another..

There is a world which poets cannot seem to enter. It is the world everybody else lives in. And the only thing poets seem to have in common is their ….

In one sense, reading is a great waste of time. In another sense, it is a great extension of time, a way for one person to live a thousand and one li….

Art has always been aware of itself as art..

It is the first experience you ever had of reading a decent poem: 'Oh, somebody else is lonely, too!.

In the end I would rather wonder than know.

People, the people we really love, where did they come from? What did we do to deserve them?.

In life, the number of beginnings is exactly equal to the number of endings ... In poetry, the number of beginnings so far exceeds the number of endi….

Once I witnessed a windstorm so severe two 100-year-old trees were uprooted on the spot. The next day, walking among the wreckage, I found the friabl….

I have become an orchid washed in on the salt white beach. Memory, what can I make of it now that might please you- this life, already wasted and sti….

in the beginning William Shakespeare was a baby, and knew absolutely nothing. He couldn't even speak..

[On filling out a grant application:] I seek an extended period of time, free from all distractions, so that I might be free to be distracted..