Every Poem Is A Momentary Stay Against

How Many Times It Thundered Before Franklin Took The Hint! How Many Apples Fell On Newton's Head Before He Took The Hint! Nature Is Always Hinting At Us. It Hints Over And Over Again. And Suddenly We Take The Hint.

God Turned To Speak To Me (don't Anybody Laugh); God Found I Wasn't There At Least Not Over Half.

The Sidelong Glance Is What You Depend On.

A Poet Never Takes Notes. You Never Take Notes In A Love Affair.

Possessing What We Still Were Unpossessed By, Possessed By What We Now No More Possessed.