Poetry Is A Sky Dark With A

The Drum In A Dream Pounds Loud To The Dreamer.

Poetry Is The Opening And Closing Of A Door, Leaving Those Who Look Through To Guess About What Is Seen During The Moment.

It Is Necessary ... For A Man To Go Away By Himself ... To Sit On A Rock ... And Ask, 'who Am I, Where Have I Been, And Where Am I Going?

Poetry Is A Series Of Explanations Of Life, Fading Off Into Horizons Too Swift For Explanations.

Time Is A Sandpile We Run Our Fingers In.