Breathe the sweetness that hovers in August.

Grief is a hole you walk around in the daytime and at night you fall into it.

I'll dig in into my days, having come here to live, not to visit. Grey is the price of neighboring with eagles, of knowing a mountain's vast presence, seen or unseen.

Wear scarlet! Tear the green lemons off the tree! I don't want to forget who I am, what has burned in me, and hang limp and clean, an empty dress -

I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct.

Let me walk through the fields of paper touching with my wand dry stems and stunted butterflies.

You can live for years next door to a big pine tree, honored to have so venerable a neighbor, even when it sheds needles all over your flowers or wakes you, dropping big cones onto your deck at still of night.