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

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

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

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

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

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,

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…

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

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

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

She steps into the dark swamp where the long wait ends. The secret slippery package drops to the weeds. She leans her long neck and tongue…

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

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…

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