“Publishing a book of poetry is like dropping a rose petal down the Grand Canyon and waiting for the echo.”

“Her body was wrapped in shadows like moth wings, like rose-petals.”

“A rose dreams of enjoying the company of bees, but none appears. The sun asks:

“Aren’t you tired of waiting?”

“Yes,” answers the rose, “but if I close my petals, I will wither and die.”

“It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits”

“Footfalls echo in the memory
down the passage we did not take
towards the door we never opened
into the rose garden. My words echo
thus, in your mind”

“A book should be a garden that fits in the hands. Word-petals of color. Stems of strength. roots of truth. Turn a page and turn the seasons. Read the sentence and enjoy the roses.”

“Happiness is in the quiet, ordinary things. A table, a chair, a book with a paper-knife stuck between the pages. And the petal falling from the rose, and the light flickering as we sit silent.”

“Mountain-rose petals
Falling, falling, falling now…
Waterfall music”

“It's like if you plant something in the concrete and if it grow and the rose petal got all kinda scratches and marks, you ain't gonna say "damn, look at all the scratches and marks on the rose that grew from the concrete.." you gonna be like "DAMN! a ROSE grew from the CONCRETE?”

“I could throw 56-pound words clear across the Grand Canyon. As a matter of course, I went into politics.”