Wild Sings The Bird Of

My First Two Books Are Out Of Print And, Okay, They Can Sleep There Comfortably. It's Early Work, Derivative Work.

When It's Over I Don't Want To Wonder If I Have Made Of My Life Something Particular, And Real.

We Shake With Joy, We Shake With Grief. What A Time They Have, These Two Housed As They Are In The Same Body.

A Poet's Interest In Craft Never Fades, Of Course.

Poetry Is One Of The Original Arts, And It Began, As Did All The Fine Arts, Within The Original Wilderness Of The Earth.