Light is to photography what movement is to poetry.
—Mr. Dash
I feel at home, everyone there is anyone of us, struck by a stray bullet, or a virus, or a stroke, or fallen in front of a subway, and I feel somehow safe, there. Suddenly, I understand what I am saying: the patients cannot move, they are paralyzed as if tied up, they could not hit me.
—Sharon Olds, At the Hospital for the Paralyzed
Sooner or later Every trek becomes a funeral procession.
—Amy Clampitt, A procession at candlemas
You leaning down and putting your mouth and putting Your mouth against mine so I should know That a kiss is only the beginning.
—Mark Strand, Dark Harbor