I came where the river Ran over stones; My ears knew An early joy. And all the waters Of all the streams Sang in my veins That summer day.

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition.

The darkness has it's own light.

What falls away is always. And is near.

You must believe a poem is a holy thing, a good poem, that is.

God bless the roots! Body and soul are one.

Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt keeps breathing a small breath.