How Shall The Heart Be Reconciled /

Memory Is Each Man's Poet-in-residence.

I Want To Write Poems That Are Natural, Luminous, Deep, Spare. I Dream Of An Art So Transparent That You Can Look Through And See The World.

A Poem Has Secrets That The Poet Knows Nothing Of.

...few Young Poets [are] Testing Their Poems Against The Ear. They're Writing For The Page, And The Page, Let Me Tell You, Is A Cold Bed.

The Poem Comes In The Form Of A Blessing, Like Rapture Breaking On The Mind.