The one who asks questions doesn't lose his way

The only thing I see, I just put my head down to the right and he was running to the base. All of a sudden I see A.J. running and I'm confused, I don't know what's going on. When someone said the ball hit the dirt and then I saw him running and that's it.

The plays she makes, that's what motivates me. I can't speak for the rest of my team, but I catch myself running down the court over and over just shaking my head and laughing, the things she does.

The poem builds in my mind and sits there, as if in a register, until the poem, or a piece of a longer poem, is finished enough to write down. I can hold several lines in my head for quite some time, but as soon as they are written down, the register clears, as it were, and I have to work with what is on the paper.

The poet called Miss Liberty's torch 'the lamp beside the golden door.' Well, that was the entrance to America, and it still is. And now you really know why we're here tonight. The glistening hope of that lamp is still ours. Every promise, every opportunity, is still golden in this land. And through that golden door our children can walk into tomorrow with the knowledge that no one can be denied the promise that is America. Her heart is full; her torch is still golden, her future bright. She has arms big enough to comfort and strong enough to support, for the strength in her arms is the strength of her people. She will carry on in the '80s unafraid, unashamed, and unsurpassed. In this springtime of hope, some lights seem eternal; America's is.