Moon Like A Large Stainedglass Window That

Today In My Heart A Vague Trembling Of Stars And All Roses Are As White As My Pain.

We're All Curious About What Might Hurt Us.

Fire Is Fed By Fire. The Same Small Flame Destroys Two Stalks Of Wheat At Once.

What Shall I Say About Poetry? What Shall I Say About Those Clouds, Or About The Sky? Look; Look At Them; Look At It! And Nothing More. Don't You Understand Anything About Poetry? Leave That To The Critics And The Professors. For Neither You, Nor I, Nor Any Poet Knows What Poetry Is.

All One's Personality Is Embedded In Gloves And Hats After They've Been Good And Used. Show Me A Glove And I'll Tell You The Character Of Its Owner.