My desire is only this—to die someplace the earth made beautiful all on its own, the way a first-grader makes the morning glory out of construction paper and Elmer’s glue, … Continue reading
Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
The sun came up this morning
Like a madwoman’s red eye
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
Because yesterday I lay fully dressed alone on my bed listening to the sweet-tempered yatter of rain I’d longed for all summer, a sound that continued for hours against the … Continue reading
Somewhere in some other place their kind are wild, meant for the verdant and exotic, and on the west slopes of the coastal range, near Palos Verdes, where the foothills … Continue reading
The maple leaves are always green up here, and the waters of the Sound always blue. I have been thinking of you all day, at least since breezes pushed the … Continue reading
. I thought I wanted to become a philosopher when I went to college. I signed up for an introductory course and found myself sitting in a large hall with … Continue reading
I could not be a poet without the natural world. Someone else could. But not me. For me the door to the woods is the door to the temple.
“Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself.” Basho . It is not a steely-eyed egret nor heft of pelican but just a singing bird that … Continue reading