She Was Learning To Love

I Am An Ordinary Human Being Who Is Impelled To Write Poetry. ... I Still Do Feel That A Poet Has A Duty To Words, And That Words Can Do Wonderful Things, And It's Too Bad To Just Let Them Lie There Without Doing Anything With And For Them.

When You Love A Man, He Becomes More Than A Body. His Physical Limbs Expand, And His Outline Recedes, Vanishes. He Is Rich And Sweet And Right. He Is Part Of The World, The Atmosphere, The Blue Sky And The Blue Water.

Books Are Meat And Medicine And Flame And Flight And Flower Steel, Stitch, Cloud And Clout, And Drumbeats On The Air.

At A Certain Moment In Social Proceedings, I Am On Fire To Leave: I Have A Leaving-fit.

When I Start Writing A Poem, I Don't Think About Models Or About What Anybody Else In The World Has Done.