Poetry must be as new as foam, and as old as the rock.

I'd love to give you somethingbut what would help?

Rocket shipsare excitingbut so are roseson a birthday.

Conceptions are artificial. Perceptions are essential.

There will never be an endTo this droning of the surf.

We are all old-timers,each of us holds a locked razor.

I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here.

Calligraphy of geeseagainst the sky-the moon seals it.

Unasked, Unsought, Love gives itself but is not bought

Broken.As I search for hope,In the same eyesI lost it.

Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.

I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me.

The journey back is always longer than the forward run.

O love, how did you get here?--Nick and the Candlestick

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood.