I should read more poetry. It’s good for the soul.
Here is a glass of water from my well.
It tastes of rock and root and earth and rain;
It is the best I have, my only spell,
And it is cold, and better than champagne.
And under the rusty chestnut I walk
through a rain of crystals. There isn’t much to say.
This is a day that decides by itself to be beautiful.
This field is a bride. How are we to say goodbye?
…More and more creased each year, worn paper thin,
and still it longs for them all.
Not one of the lives of this world the heart does not choose