Every morning the world is created. Under the orange sticks of the sun

Don’t call this world adorable, or… It’s frisky, and a theater for mor… The eyelash of lightning is neithe… The struck tree burns like a pilla… But the blue rain sinks, straight…

Not quite four a.m., when the rapt… strikes me from sleep, and I rise from the comfortable bed and go to another room, where my books ar… in their neat and colorful rows. H…

Don’t bother me. I’ve just been born. The butterfly’s loping flight carries it through the country of…

From a single grain they have mult… When you look in the eyes of one you have seen them all. At the edges of highways they pick at limp things.

Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars of light,

Hello, sun in my face. Hello, you who make the morning and spread it over the fields and into the faces of the tulips and the nodding morning glories,

The first fish I ever caught would not lie down quiet in the pail but flailed and sucked

Is the soul solid, like iron? Or is it tender and breakable, lik… the wings of a moth in the beak of… Who has it, and who doesn’t? I keep looking around me.

centerYou are standing at the edge… at twilight when something begins to sing, like a waterfall pouring down

My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hum… equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there t… Here the clam deep in the speckled…

There is, all around us, this country of original fire. You know what I mean. The sky, after all, stops at nothi…

Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun,

At Blackwater Pond the tossed wat… after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls…

On a summer morning I sat down on a hillside to think about God – a worthy pastime.