I Want To Write Poems That Are

A Longing For The Dance Stirs In The Buried Life.

When You Look Back On A Lifetime And Think Of What Has Been Given To The World By Your Presence, Your Fugitive Presence, Inevitably You Think Of Your Art, Whatever It May Be, As The Gift You Have Made To The World In Acknowledgment Of The Gift You Have Been Given, Which Is The Life Itself... That Work Is Not An Expression Of The Desire For Praise Or Recognition, Or Prizes, But The Deepest Manifestation Of Your Gratitiude For The Gift Of Life.

My Mother Never Forgave My Father

It Is My Heart That's Late, It Is My Song That's Flown.

To Conquer A Piece Of Earth And Make It As Beautiful As One Can Dream Of It Being: That Is Art, Too. A Man Cannot Be Separated From The Earth. I Come Out Of The Garden Every Day Feeling, Oh, Inspired In A Way That One Needs In Order To Convert The Daily-ness Of The Life Into Something Greater Than That Little Life Itself.