Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever [...]

Than softly falling snow Fussing over every flake And making sure It won’t wake someone.

What happened is, we grew lonely living among the things, so we gave the clock a face, the chair a back, the table four stout legs which will never suffer fatigue. We fitted our shoes [...]

Somewhere now she takes off the dress I am putting on. It is evening in the antiworld where she lives. She is forty-five years away from her death, the hole which spit her out into [...]

How swiftly the strained honey of afternoon light flows into darkness and the closed bud shrugs off its special mystery in order to break into blossom as if what exists, exists so that it can [...]

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean — the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is [...]

Every year the lilies are so perfect I can hardly believe their lapped light crowding the black, mid-summer ponds. Nobody could count all of them -- the muskrats swimming among the pads and the grasses [...]

A blue preacher flew toward the swamp, in slow motion. On the leafy banks, an old Chinese poet, hunched in the white gown of his wings, was waiting. The water was the kind of dark [...]

I have been thinking about living like the lilies that blow in the fields. They rise and fall in the edge of the wind, and have no shelter from the tongues of the cattle, and [...]

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean — the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is [...]