One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began.

I grew up in a sad, depressed place. I got out. Poetry saved my life.

Also I wanted to be able to love And we all know how that one goes, don't we? Slowly

Sometimes I spend all day trying to count the leaves on a single tree... Of course I have to give up, but by then I'm half crazy with the wonder of it--the abundance of the leaves, the quietness of the branches, the hopelessness of my effort. And I am in that delicious and important place, roaring with laughter, full of earth-praise.

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

What misery to be afraid of death. What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.

I saw that worrying had come to nothing and gave it up. And took my old body and went out into the morning, and sang.