But maybe it's up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it's never found. But what you find, whatever you find, is always only part of the missing, and writing is the way the poet finds out what it is he found.
“The Sunday School teacher talked too much in the way our grade school teacher used to when she told us about George Washington. Pleasant, pretty stories, but not true.”
“Since I have fair skin, I have to stay out of the sun. I can't stand the sun. I dyed my hair red for a while during the 1990s but I'm actually a natural blonde.”