The descent beckons as the ascent beckoned

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.

A poem is a small machine made out of words.

The Moon, the dried weeds and the Pleiades - Seven feet tall the dark, dried weed stalks make a part of the night a red lace on the milky blue sky

Sometimes I find myself thinking, rather wistfully, about Lao Tzu's famous dictum: 'Govern a great nation as you would cook a small fish.' All around me I see something very different, let us say - a number of angry dwarfs trying to grill a whale.

The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of

No ideas but in things.