The feet of the heron, under those bamboo stems, hold the blue body, the great beak above the shallows

The first fish I ever caught would not lie down quiet in the pail but flailed and sucked

The river Of my childhood, That tumbled Down a passage of rocks And cut-work ferns,

In winter all the singing is in the tops of the trees where the wind-bird with its white eyes

Scatterghost, it can’t float away. And the rain, everybody’s brother, won’t help. And the wind all these… flying like ten crazy sisters ever…

In the early curtains of the dusk it flew, a slow galloping this way and that way

Needing one, I invented her— the great-great-aunt dark as hicko… called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting… or The-Beauty-of-the-Night. Dear aunt, I’d call into the leav…

My work is loving the world. Here the sunflowers, there the hum… equal seekers of sweetness. Here the quickening yeast; there t… Here the clam deep in the speckled…

From a single grain they have mult… When you look in the eyes of one you have seen them all. At the edges of highways they pick at limp things.

All winter the water has crashed over the cold the cold sand. Now it breaks over the thin branch of your body.

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black b… Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean– the one who has flung herself out…

Today again I am hardly myself. It happens over and over. It is heaven-sent. It flows through me like the blue wave.

Come with me into the field of sunflowers. Their faces are burnished disks, their dry spines creak like ship masts,

Did you too see it, drifting, all… Did you see it in the morning, ris… An armful of white blossoms, A perfect commotion of silk and li… into the bondage of its wings; a s…

centerYou are standing at the edge… at twilight when something begins to sing, like a waterfall pouring down