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I too have known loneliness.I too have known what it is to feelmisunderstood,rejected, and suddenlynot at all beautiful.Oh, mother earth,your comfort is great, your arms never withhold.It has saved my life to know this.Your rivers flowing, your roses opening in…
Meditation, so I’ve heard, is best accomplishedif you entertain a certain strict posture.Frankly, I prefer just to lounge under a tree.So why should I think I could ever be successful? Some days I fall asleep, or land in thateven better…
I step into the painting of the four blue horses.I am not even surprised that I can do this.One of the horses walks toward me.His blue nose noses me lightly. I put my armover his blue mane, not holding on,…
by the randomnessof the waythe rocks tumbledages ago the water poursit poursit poursever along the slant of downgradedashing its silver thumbsagainst the rocksor pausing to carve a sudden curled spacewhere the flashing fishsplash or drowsewhile the kingfisher overhead rattles and…
I don’t want to be demure or respectable.I was that way, asleep, for years.That way, you forget too many important things.How the little stones, even if you can’t hear them,are singing.How the river can’t wait to get to the ocean…
The slippery green frogthat went to his deathin the heron’s pink throatwas my small brother, and the heronwith the white plumeslike a crown on his headwho is washing now his great sword-beakin the shining pondis my tall thin brother. My…
Be still, my soul, and steadfast.Earth and heaven both are still watchingthough time is draining from the clockand your walk, that was confident and quick,has become slow. So, be slow if you must, but letthe heart still play its true…
I have just said somethingridiculous to you and in response,your glorious laughter. These are the daysthe sun is swimming backto the east and the light on the watergleams as never, it seems, before.I can’t remember every spring,I can’t remember everything—so…
August of another summer, and once againI am drinking the sunand the lilies again are spread across the water.I know now what they want is to touch each other.I have not been here for many yearsduring which time I kept…
That pretty little beast, a poem, has a mind of its own.Sometimes I want it to crave apples but it wants red meat.Sometimes I want to walk peacefully on the shoreand it wants to take off all its clothes and…