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

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

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

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…

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…

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.

Come with me into the field of sunflowers. Their faces are burnished disks, their dry spines creak like ship masts,

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

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…

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

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

“For example, what the trees do not only in lightning storms or the watery dark of a summer’s n… or under the white nets of winter but now, and now, and now—whenever