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.

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

I know someone who kisses the way
a flower opens, but more rapidly.
Flowers are sweet. They have
short, beatific lives. They offer
much pleasure. There is

at twilight
when something begins
to sing, like a waterfall
pouring down
through the leaves. It is

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

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

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

I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her poc
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone o

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.

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