Deftly They Opened The Brain Of A

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.

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

We Have All Been Expelled From The Garden, But The Ones Who Suffer Most In Exile Are Those Who Are Still Permitted To Dream Of Perfection.

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

Darling, Do You Remember The Man You Married? Touch Me, Remind Me Who I Am.