Very few people really see things unless they've had someone in early life who made them look at things. And name them too. But the looking is primary, the focus.

But we have only begun to love the earth. We have only begun to imagine the fullness of life. How could we tire of hope?-so much is in bud.

If woman is inconstant, good, I am faithful to ebb and flow, I fall in season and now is a time of ripening.

You have come to the shore. There are no instructions.

Very few people really see things unless they've had someone in early life who made them look at things. And name them too. But the looking is primary, the focus.

What I heard was my whole self saying and singing what it knew: I can.

Looking, Walking, Being, I look and look. Looking's a way of being: one becomes, sometimes, a pair of eyes walking. Walking wherever looking takes one. The eyes dig and burrow into the world. They touch, fanfare, howl, madrigal, clamor. World and the past of it, not only visible present, solid and shadow that looks at one looking. And language? Rhythms of echo and interruption? That's a way of breathing. breathing to sustain looking, walking and looking, through the world, in it.