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…

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

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

The river Of my childhood, That tumbled Down a passage of rocks And cut-work ferns,

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

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

I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her poc… full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone o…

“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

Needing one, I invented her— the great-great-aunt dark as hicko… called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting… or The-Beauty-of-the-Night. Dear aunt, I’d call into the leav…

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.

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…

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

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.

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