Around me the trees stir in their leaves and call out, Stay awhile.

it is a serious thing // just to be alive / on this fresh morning / in this broken world.

Come with me into the woods where spring is advancing, as it does, no matter what, not being singular or particular, but one of the forever gifts, and certainly visible.

At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled after a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink a long time. It tastes like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold into my body, waking the bones. I hear them deep inside me, whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?

To find a new word that is accurate and different, you have to be alert for it.

So every day So every day I was surrounded by the beautiful crying forth of the ideas of God, one of which was you.

A poet's interest in craft never fades, of course.