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

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…

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…

Meditation is old and honorable, s… not sit, every morning of my life,… looking into the shining world? Be… attended to, delight, as well as h… Can one be passionate about the ju…

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black b… Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean– the one who has flung herself out…

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

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

In the early curtains of the dusk it flew, a slow galloping this way and that way

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

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…

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.

When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the bramb… nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching

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

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…