Every day I walk out into the world / to be dazzled, then to be reflective.

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

In my own work, I usually revise through forty or fifty drafts of a poem before I begin to feel content with it.

It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don't try to make them elaborate, this isn't a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.

Who do you want to be in your one wild and precious life?

Praying It doesn’t have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just pay attention, then patch a few words together and don’t try to make them elaborate, this isn’t a contest but the doorway into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.

I believe in kindness. Also in mischief.