Poetry can keep life itself alive. You can endure almost anything as long as you can sing about it.

There is this cave In the air behind my body That nobody is going to touch: A cloister, a silence Closing around a blossom of fire. When I stand upright in the wind, My bones turn to dark emeralds.

I asked the Mesquite coach who he thought the best team in Mesquite is. He said they were about even.

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

Poetry can keep life itself alive. You can endure almost anything as long as you can sing about it.

I close my eyes, and think of water.

Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom.