A poem can be made of common household ingredients. It fits on a single page yet it can fill a world and fits in the pocket of a heart. Poetry is pillow-thought after intercourse. The poet is a street singer who rescues the alley cats of love. Poetry is the distillation of articulate animals calling to each other over a great gulf.
Poetry is the dialogue of statues.
Poetry is the sound of summer in the rain and of people laughing behind closed shutters down a narrow street. Poetry is the incomparable lyric intelligence brought to bear upon fifty-seven varieties of experience. Poetry is a high house echoing with all the voices that ever said anything crazy or wonderful. Poetry is a subversive raid upon the forgotten language of the collective unconscious. Poetry is a real canary in a coal mine, and we know why the caged bird sings.