Walking is the great adventure, the first meditation, a practice of heartiness and soul primary to humankind. Walking is the exact balance beween spirit and humility.

When the mind is exhausted of images, it invents its own.

My Grandmother standing wordless fifteen minutes Between rows of loganberries, clippers poised in her hand.

All those years and their moments— Crackling bacon, slamming car doors, Poems tried out on friends, Will be one more archive, One more shaky text.

Streams and mountains never stay the same.

The other side of the "sacred" is the sight of your beloved in the underworld, dripping with maggots.

With no surroundings there can be no path, and with no path one cannot become free.