A pencil in my hand, its secret life / is charcoal, the wood already burnt, / a sacrifice.

- Marianne Boruch

To walk into Bill Olsen's poems is to enter a mind so weirdly curious, you can't be released to sadness, not yet: it's just too surprising. But this…

- Marianne Boruch

A poem is a box, a thing, to put other things in. For safe keeping.

- Marianne Boruch