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Chaos. I move around, mutter, curse, stare at the sky for an hour, occasionally stop all this to hastily scribble a flurry of words down (which I often have a hard time reading later). But then sometimes – the best times – it’s quite swift and gifted, and I write a whole poem at one go. After forty years of it, I find the experience more rather than less comprehensible. I do believe God is in it, both the source and the aim.

An acclaimed American poet gives a glimpse into his workday.