Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.

What can we do but keep on breathing in and out, modest and willing, and in our places?

Every morning I walk like this around the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead.

Though I play at the edges of knowing, truly I know our part is not knowing, but looking, and touching, and loving

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery; I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while.

And to tell the truth I don't want to let go of the wrists of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money, I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.