My soul, a tiny speck, is my tutor. But with understanding, they can become glorious verse.
Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
I who don't know the secret wrote the line. No doubt by now, more than a week later, they have forgotten the secret, the line, the name of the poem. I love them for finding what I can't find, and for loving me for the line I wrote, and for forgetting it so that a thousand times, till death finds them, they may discover it again, in other lines in other happenings. And for wanting to know it, for assuming there is such a secret, yes, for that most of all. You can't order a poem like you order a taco.