From William Carlos Williams, I learned how to find what I already had.
From Rumi, I learned how to keep searching for it anyway.
From Dickinson, I learned that certainty is death-in-life.
From Whitman, I learned that Creation doesn’t require a God.
From Neruda, I learned that one can be entirely wrong and still be right.
From Francis Ponge, I learned that radical empathy and clinical analysis make good bedfellows.
From Lucille Clifton, I learned that four or five well-chosen words can punch harder than an entire blood-stained epic.
From Ryōkan, I learned that poets must never be too old for children’s games.
From Miguel Hernandez, I learned that onion tears are as good as real ones.
From the Bible, I learned that thoughts are better when they repeat once in a higher key.
From Ai, I learned that even the worst, most evil men and women can still be beautiful.
From Issa, I learned that a poet’s first duty is compassion.
From John Clare, I learned that siding with nature can get you locked away.
From Robinson Jeffers, I learned that weather is the best muse.
From Vicente Aleixandre, I learned that eternity devours us moment by moment.
From Mary Oliver, I learned why a question mark is shaped like an open mouth.
From Charles Simic, I learned how to listen to stones.
