The Poem I Want To Write Is

We Name One Thing And Then Another. That’s How Time Enters Poetry. Space, On The Other Hand, Comes Into Being Through The Attention We Pay To Each Word. The More Intense Our Attention, The More Space, And There’s A Lot Of Space Inside Words.

A Poem Is An Invitation To A Voyage. As In Life, We Travel To See Fresh Sights.

I Left Parts Of Myself Everywhere, The Way Absent-minded People Leave Gloves And Umbrellas Whose Colors Are Sad From Dispensing So Much Bad Luck

Words Make Love On The Page Like Flies In The Summer Heat And The Poet Is Only The Bemused Spectator.

Only Brooms Know The Devil Still Exists, That The Snow Grows Whiter After A Crow Has Flown Over It