“I returnedto confirmthere can be no return.”

“No home anymore. Nowhere to return. My house is a ruin, a cemetery. You may yearn for the grave, but just try living there.”

“I don’t write poetry when I wish, I write when I can’t, when my larynx is flooded and my throat is shut.”

“I write in order to comprehend, not to express myself.”

“The way a source strains toward the light, toward the air. Its laboring work, its effort, its black passageways like despair. That’s the way a poet looks for words. With muscles, gestures.”

“Letters of the condemned. Last words scratched on a cell’s wall. To write like that.”

“Where your pain is, there your heart lies also.”