What We Feel Most Has No Name

I Believe That Icarus Was Not Failing As He Fell, But Just Coming To The End Of His Triumph.

Waking At Night The Blue River Is Grey At Morning And Evening. There Is Twilight At Dawn And Dusk. I Lie In The Dark Wondering If This Quiet In Me Now Is A Beginning Or An End.

But Anything Worth Doing Is Worth Doing Badly. Like Being There By That Summer Ocean On The Other Side Of The Island While Love Was Fading Out Of Her, The Stars Burning So Extravagantly Those Nights That Anyone Could Tell You They Would Never Last.

Everyone Forgets Icarus Also Flew.

I Like Ornament At The Right Time, But I Don't Want A Poem To Be Made Out Of Decoration ... When I Read The Poems That Matter To Me, It Stuns Me How Much The Presence Of The Heart-in All Its Forms-is Endlessly Available There. To Experience Ourselves In An Important Way Just Knocks Me Out. It Puzzles Me Why People Have Given That Up For Cleverness. Some Of Them Are Ingenious, More Ingenious Than I Am, But So Many Of Them Aren't Any Good At Being Alive.