EH: I read that title, “The End of Poetry,” as both the limit of poetry and the aim of poetry. Do you think there’s an aim that underlies your poems?

AL: I love that you say the aim of poetry because I think that’s part of it too. Can the poem reach out and touch you in some ways too? Can it hold you? The poem says, “enough, enough, enough,” but it’s also asking, can it be enough? For me, the aim changes poem by poem. Each poem has its own intention just like every minute has its own intention. But I am very interested in—and this is the legacy work of poetry, it’s nothing new—what it is to recommit to the world all the time, to choose it. I’m interested in how deep watching and deep listening are ways of loving. And I’m also interested in how making poems and making art will make me a whole person, a more connected person, a more grounded person—in art as healing. I feel like we’re not allowed to talk about that. Because I think the academic poets that we all adore want to keep that idea of “poetry is healing” kind of separate from the craft, separate from the seriousness of poetry. Which I understand, but I think that poetry heals me every day. So on a personal level, I am interested in how it can anchor me and give me a tool for living.