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

Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, lik
the wings of a moth in the beak of
Who has it, and who doesn’t?
I keep looking around me.

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice—

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

Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,

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.

Meditation is old and honorable, s
not sit, every morning of my life,
looking into the shining world? Be
attended to, delight, as well as h
Can one be passionate about the ju

The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,
shoulders, and all the rest

At Blackwater Pond the tossed wat
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls

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