This is how it always is when I finish a poem. A great silence overcomes me and I wonder why I ever thought to use language.

Tomorrow you'll be brave, you say? Fool! Dive today.

You have been a prisoner of a little pond I am the ocean and its turbulent flood Come merge with me leave this world of ignorance

This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.

Even though you're not equipped, keep searching: equipment isn't necessary on the way to the Lord.

I feel like the earth, astonished at fragrance borne in the air, made pregnant with mystery from a drop of rain.

Everything you possess of skill, and wealth, and handicraft, wasn't it first merely a thought and a quest?