Pain wanders through my bones like a lost fire

Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.

What have I done, dear God, to deserve this perpetual feeling that I'm almost ready to begin something really new?

I'm sure I've been a toad, one time or another. With bats, weasels, worms...I rejoice in the kinship. Even the caterpillar I can love, and the various vermin.

Any fool can take a bad line out of a poem; it takes a real pro to throw out a good line.

To follow the drops sliding from a lifting oar, Head up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward.

The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.