“After reciting my verses, I always pause for a small moment. After the words have echoed, after my voice has touched everything, and filled the spaces between all things, I am silent. To separate the poem from the rest. And I listen. The poet speaks. The poet proclaims. But the poet also listens. A bird or two. The air that once again stakes its claim as lord and master of the space between the leaves. The thin whistle the world makes, at the bottom of every ear …”