Love is ... the bite into bread again..

Body my house my horse my hound what will I do when you are fallen.

Take earth for your own large room and the floor of earth carpeted with sunlight and hung round with silver wind for your dancing place..

The best poetry has its roots in the subconscious to a great degree. Youth, naivety, reliance on instinct more than learning and method, a sense of f….

Poetry can magnify experience..

The summer that I was ten - Can it be there was only one summer that I was ten? It must have been a long one then..

Bat doesn't hit ball, bat meets it..