In Order To Write Poetry,

Mankind Owns Four Things That Are No Good At Sea: Rudder, Anchor, Oars And The Fear Of Going Down.

I Thought My Fire Was Out, And Stirred The Ashes…. I Burnt My Fingers.

All Uncertainty Is Fruitfull ... So Long As It Is Accompanied By The Wish To Understand

What The Poet Is Searching For Is Not The Fundamental I But The Deep You.

Traveler, There Is No Path, The Path Must Be Forged As You Walk.