(I measure time by how a body sways.)
To follow the drops sliding from a lifting oar, Head up, while the rower breathes, and the small boat drifts quietly shoreward.
Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.
In our age, if a boy or girl is untalented, the odds are in favor of their thinking they want to write.
How terrible the need for God.
I learned not to fear infinity, The far field, the windy cliffs of forever, The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow, The wheel turning away from itself, The sprawl of the wave, The on-coming water.