A Longing For The Dance Stirs In

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.

The Poem Comes In The Form Of A Blessing, Like Rapture Breaking On The Mind.

We Have All Been Expelled From The Garden, But The Ones Who Suffer Most In Exile Are Those Who Are Still Permitted To Dream Of Perfection.

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

The Poem In The Head Is Always Perfect. Resistance Begins When You Try To Convert It Into Language.