Don’t bother me. I’ve just been born. The butterfly’s loping flight carries it through the country of…

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…

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

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…

There is, all around us, this country of original fire. You know what I mean. The sky, after all, stops at nothi…

Every morning the world is created. Under the orange sticks of the sun

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

When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the bramb… nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching

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

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your kn… for a hundred miles through the de… You only have to let the soft anim… love what it loves.

Understand, I am always trying to… what the soul is, and where hidden, and what shape and so, last week,

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

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

Hello, sun in my face. Hello, you who make the morning and spread it over the fields and into the faces of the tulips and the nodding morning glories,

Last night in the fields I lay down in the darkness to think about death, but instead I fell asleep,