For some things there are no wrong seasons. Which is what I dream of for me.

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

I consider myself kind of a reporter - one who uses words that are more like music and that have a choreography. I never think of myself as a poet; I just get up and write.

And now I understand something so frightening &wonderful- how the mind clings to the road it knows, rushing through crossroads, sticking like lint to the familiar.

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.

For some things there are no wrong seasons. Which is what I dream of for me.

I went to India and was quite taken with it. There's a feeling there that things are holy first and useful second. And in America, we have it backwards.