I Offer You What I Have My

Your Absence Has Gone Through Me

After An Age Of Leaves And Feathers Someone Dead Thought Of The Mountain As Money And Cut The Trees That Were Here And The Wind And The Rain At Night. It Is Hard To Say It.

I Wouldn't Be Happy About Being Considered A Love Poet Or An Environmental - I Don't Want Any Of Those Tags.

Any Work Of Art Makes One Very Simple Demand On Anyone Who Genuinely Wants To Get In Touch With It. And That Is To Stop. You've Got To Stop What You're Doing, What You're Thinking, And What You're Expecting And Just Be There For The Poem For However Long It Takes.

You Grieve Not That Heaven Does Not Exist But That It Exists Without Us