Two Attributes Of A Poet,

Yet Falling In Love Is Not The Same As Being Able To Love.

Men Will Clutch At Illusions When They Have Nothing Else To Hold To.

Our Memory Is Childish And It Saves Only What We Need.

Poetry Is A Dividend From What You Know And What You Are.

The Partition Separating Life From Death Is So Tenuous. The Unbelievable Fragility Of Our Organism Suggests A Vision On A Screen: A Kind Of Mist Condenses Itself Into A Human Shape, Lasts A Moment And Scatters.