My first two books are out of print and, okay, they can sleep there comfortably. It's early work, derivative work.

The face of the moose is as sad as the face of Jesus.

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

Ordinarily, I go to the woods alone. When I'm alone I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

The poem in which the reader does not feel himself or herself a participant is a lecture, listened to from an uncomfortable chair, in a stuffy room, inside a building.

So this is how you swim inward. So this is how you flow outwards. So this is how you pray.

And now you'll be telling stories of my coming back and they won't be false, and they won't be true but they'll be real