Lunches are just not good. They take the heart out of the day and the spaciousness from the morning's work.
Try making a poem as if it were a table, clear and solid, standing there outside you.
How slowly one comes to understand anything!
Love opens the doors into everything, as far as I can see, including and perhaps most of all, the door into one's own secret, and often terrible and frightening, real self.
For to be desperate is to discover strength. / We die of comfort and by conflict live.
gardening is a madness, a folly that does not go away with age. Quite the contrary.