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

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

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

centerYou are standing at the edge… at twilight when something begins to sing, like a waterfall pouring down

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.

When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the… to buy me, and snaps the purse shu… when death comes

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…

Don’t bother me. I’ve just been born. The butterfly’s loping flight carries it through the country of…

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

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

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

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

“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