And I walked, I walked through the light air; I moved with the morning.

I wish I could find an event that meant as much as simple seeing.

Deep in their roots, all flowers keep the light.

I long for the imperishable quiet at the heart of form.

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

I teach my sighs to lengthen into songs.

A too explicit elucidation in education destroys much of the pleasure of learning. There should be room for sly hinters, masters of suggestion.