Weier Tagesanbruch. Stille. Als… hielt ich es für Seewind, in unser… von Salz, von baumlosen Horizonte… bewegte sich nicht; das Laub meine… regungslos.

Some people, no matter what you give them, still want the moon. The bread, the salt,

Something is very gently, invisibly, silently, pulling at me-a thread or net of threads finer than cobweb and as

Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appearrs, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted ...

The flowerlike animal perfume in the god’s curly hair— don’t assume

The clouds as I see them, rising urgently, roseate in the mounting of somber power surging in evening haste over roofs and hermetic

We live our lives of human passion… cruelties, dreams, concepts, crimes and the exercise of virtue in and beside a world devoid of our preoccupations, free

"The World is not something to look at, it is something to be in.… Mark Rudman I look and look. Looking’s a way of being: one beco…

Brilliant, this day—a young virtuo… Morning shadow cut by sharpest sci… deft hands. And every prodigy of g… whether it’s ferns or lichens or n… or impatient points of buds on spi…

Bricks of the wall, so much older than the house - taken I think from a farm pulled d… when the street was built - narrow bricks of another century.

The moon is a sow and grunts in my throat Her great shining shines through m… so the mud of my hollow gleams and breaks in silver bubbles

Not the moon. A flower on the other side of the water. The water sweeps past in flood, dragging a whole tree by the hair, a barn, a bridge. The flower