It's Morning, And Again I Am That

When Loneliness Comes Stalking, Go Into The Fields, Consider The Orderliness Of The World.

I Saw That Worrying Had Come To Nothing And Gave It Up. And Took My Old Body And Went Out Into The Morning, And Sang.

Listen--are You Breathing Just A Little, And Calling It A Life?

In My Own Work, I Usually Revise Through Forty Or Fifty Drafts Of A Poem Before I Begin To Feel Content With It.

If I've Done My Work Well, I Vanish Completely From The Scene. I Believe It Is Invasive Of The Work When You Know Too Much About The Writer.