The Figure A Poem Makes. It Begins

The Sun Was Warm But The Wind Was Chill. You Know How It Is With An April Day. When The Sun Is Out And The Wind Is Still, You're One Month On In The Middle Of May. But If You So Much As Dare To Speak, A Cloud Come Over The Sunlit Arch, And Wind Comes Off A Frozen Peak, And You're Two Months Back In The Middle Of March.

I Have Never Started A Poem Yet Whose End I Knew. Writing A Poem Is Discovering.

Such Heaps Of Broken Glass To Sweep Away / You'd Think The Inner Dome Of Heaven Had Fallen.

Let Him That Is Without Stone Among You Cast The First Thing He Can Lay His Hands On.

The People I Want To Hear About Are The People Who Take Risks.