A Longing For The Dance Stirs In

You Must Be Careful Not To Deprive The Poem Of Its Wild Origin.

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.

I Like An Ending That's Both A Door And A Window.

The Ear Writes My Poems, Not The Mind.

The First Task Of The Poet Is To Create The Person Who Will Write The Poems.