When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth "for His mercy endureth forever," with confiding revulsion.

To shut your eyes is to travel.

Bring me the sunset in a cup.

The friend anguish reveals is the slowest forgot.

In the name of the bee And of the butterfly And of the breeze, amen!

You don't have to be a house to be haunted.

I'll tell you how the sun rose, a ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran. The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then I said softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!