When I Passed The Age Of 50,

I Don't Decide To Represent Anything Except Myself. But That Self Is Full Of Collective Memory.

I Want To Find A Language That Transforms Language Itself Into Steel For The Spirit--a Language To Use Against These Sparkling Insects, These Jets.

The Metaphor For Palestine Is Stronger Than The Palestine Of Reality.

The Poem Is Neither Here Nor There, And With A Girl's Breast It Can Illuminate The Nights. With The Glow Of An Apple It Fills Two Bodies With Light And With A Gardenia's Breath It Can Revive A Homeland!

We Suffer From An Incurable Malady: Hope.