The spirit likes to dress up like this: ten fingers, ten toes, shoulders, and all the rest

The feet of the heron, under those bamboo stems, hold the blue body, the great beak above the shallows

Scatterghost, it can’t float away. And the rain, everybody’s brother, won’t help. And the wind all these… flying like ten crazy sisters ever…

I know someone who kisses the way a flower opens, but more rapidly. Flowers are sweet. They have short, beatific lives. They offer much pleasure. There is

In winter all the singing is in the tops of the trees where the wind-bird with its white eyes

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice—

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…

Last night in the fields I lay down in the darkness to think about death, but instead I fell asleep,

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.

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,

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

I’d seen their hoofprints in the deep needles and knew they ended the long night under the pines, walking

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…

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

Today again I am hardly myself. It happens over and over. It is heaven-sent. It flows through me like the blue wave.