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…

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…

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your kn… for a hundred miles through the de… You only have to let the soft anim… love what it loves.

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

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.

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…

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

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

She steps into the dark swamp where the long wait ends. The secret slippery package drops to the weeds. She leans her long neck and tongue…

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

Understand, I am always trying to… what the soul is, and where hidden, and what shape and so, last week,

All winter the water has crashed over the cold the cold sand. Now it breaks over the thin branch of your body.

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

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

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.