Arrange your unutterable alphabet, my man, / and hold tight. / It's all you've got, a naming of things, and not so beautiful.
Meanwhile, the mole goes on with its subterranean daydreams, The dogs lie around like rugs
It’s good to know certain things: What’s departed, in order to know what’s left to come; That water’s immeasurable and incomprehensible And blows in the air Where all that’s fallen and silent becomes invisible; That fire’s the light our n...
What makes us leave what we love best? What is it inside us that keeps erasing itself When we need it most, That sends us into uncertainty for its own sake And holds us flush there until we begin to love it And have to begin again? What is it within ...
Each word, as someone once wrote, contains the universe. The visible carries all the invisible on its back. Tonight, in the unconditional, what moves in the long-limbed grasses, what touches me As though I didn’t exist? What is it that keeps on mov...
Our dreams are luminous, a cast fire upon the world. Morning arrives and that's it. Sunlight darkens the earth.
The music of memory has its own pitch,/which not everyone hears.
Snub end of a dismal year, deep in the dwarf orchard, The sky with its undercoat of blackwash and point stars, I stand in the dark and answer to My life, this shirt I want to take off, which is on fire . . .
