I worked privately, and sometimes I feel that might be better for poets than the kind of social workshop gathering. My school was the great poets: I read, and I read, and I read.

Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests of our lives.

In your hands The dog, the donkey, surely they know They are alive. Who would argue otherwise? But now, after years of consideration, I am getting beyond that. What about the sunflowers? What about The tulips, and the pines? Listen, all you have to do is start and There’ll be no stopping. What about mountains? What about water Slipping over rocks? And speaking of stones, what about The little ones you can Hold in your hands, their heartbeats So secret, so hidden it may take years Before, finally, you hear them?

Every adjective and adverb is worth five cents. Every verb is worth fifty cents.

If you have ever gone into the woods with me, I must love you very much.

Do you cherish your humble and silky life?

Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.