The Heart Hid Still In

Illegibility Of This World. All Things Twice Over. The Strong Clocks Justify The Splitting Hour, Hoarsely. You , Clamped Into Your Deepest Part, Climb Out Of Yourself For Ever.

Poetry Is A Sort Of Homecoming.

Only Truthful Hands Write True Poems. I Cannot See Any Basic Difference Between A Handshake And A Poem.

No One Bears Witness For The Witness

There's Nothing In The World For Which A Poet Will Give Up Writing, Not Even He Is A Jew And The Language Of His Poems Is German.