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

Time marks us while we are marking time.

Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.

All lovers live by longing, and endure: Summon a vision and declare it pure.

I can't go on flying apart just for those who want the benefit of a few verbal kicks. My God, do you know what poems like that cost? They're not written vicariously: they come out of actual suffering, real madness.

The fields stretch out in long unbroken rows. We walk aware of what is far and close. Here distance is familiar as a friend. The feud we kept with space comes to an end.

Be sure that whatever you are is you.