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,

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

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

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

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

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

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…

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

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.

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

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

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

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…