Poetry Is The Enemy Of The Poem.

How Shall The Heart Be Reconciled / To Its Feast Of Losses?

The Supreme Morality Of Art Is To Endure.

Live In The Layers, Not On The Litter.

Be What You Are. Give What Is Yours To Give. Have Style. Dare.

I Dropped My Hoe And Ran Into The House And Started To Write This Poem, 'end Of Summer.’ It Began As A Celebration Of Wild Geese. Eventually The Geese Flew Out Of The Poem, But I Like To Think They Left Behind The Sound Of Their Beating Wings.