Category: Poetry

    Life is the only way to get covered in leaves, catch your breath on the beach, rise on wings; to be a dog, or stroke its warm fur; to tell pain from everything it's not; to squeeze inside events, hang out in views, and seek the least of all possible mistakes. A fantas

    He said, I am with you always. That means, when you look for God That God is the looking itself, Yes, and the thought of looking And the you that thinks the thought Always, already, all of it; There is no outside. A white flower grows in the silence Let your speech be th

  this blessing God's love calls us to that elsewhere world which only lovers eyes alight, eyes aflame can see at all. only those who have self surrendered: once, they were flecks of fire; now, they are the radiant sun.   Rumi

  He is a drunk leaning companionably Around a lamp post or doing up With intermittent concentration Another drunk's coat. But close your eyes and it is sunset At the edge of the world. It is the language Of dolphins, the growth of tree-roots, The heart-beat slowing down

    "Adam, where are you?" God's hands palpate darkness, the void that is Adam's inattention, his confused attention to everything, impassioned by multiplicity, his despair. Multiplicity, his despair; God's hands enacting blindness. Like a child at a barbaric fairground

  When despair grows in me and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild th

  An absolute patience. Trees stand up to their knees in fog. The fog slowly flows uphill. White cobwebs, the grass leaning where deer have looked for apples. The woods from brook to where the top of the hill looks over the fog, send up not one bird. So absolute, it is no

  An absolute patience. Trees stand up to their knees in fog. The fog slowly flows uphill. White cobwebs, the grass leaning where deer have looked for apples. The woods from brook to where the top of the hill looks over the fog, send up not one bird. So absolute, it is no

  salt rose, topaz, archery, carnations, the birth of fire. You are none of these. You are the holy secret darkness, that space between shadow and soul. There, where love is. You are the flower that only blooms within; hidden, but made of light. A tactile fragrance, an enhan

Gaze at the river. It is time and water. Remember that time is itself a river Know that we too recede always into the past. See all of our faces flow by, like a river and feel that to wake up is only to dream again and that each of those dreams is as real as the other; and tha

  Look at love... how it tangles the lover and the beloved look at spirit how it fuses with earth giving it new life why are you so busy with this or that or good or bad? pay attention to how things blend why talk about all the known and the unknown see how unknown mer

  Lord, said David, since you do not need us, why did you create these two worlds? Reality replied: O prisoner of time, I was a secret treasure of kindness and generosity, and I wished this treasure to be known, so I created a mirror: its shining face, the heart; its dar

  I believe the earth exists, and in each minim mote of its dust the holy glow of thy candle. Thou unknown I know, thou spirit, giver, lover of making, of the wrought letter, wrought flower, iron, deed, dream the ordinary glow of common dust in ancient sunlight. Be, that

    Love, thou are deep: I cannot cross thee. But, were there Two Instead of One -- Rower, and Yacht -- some sovereign Summer -- Who knows, but we'd reach the Sun? Love, thou are Veiled: A few behold thee, Smile, and alter, and prattle, and die. Bliss were an Oddity, without

 In the whole garden like screens of green plane of green rising into the morning sun  a single poppy  more ornate, fuller, larger  as if a shower puff,  overlapping petals  a singular color, melting salmon steak and orange sherbet  richer, softer crepe paper r

    Are they shadows that we see? And can shadows pleasure give? Pleasures only shadows be Cast by bodies we conceive And are made the things we deem In those figures which they seem. But these pleasures vanish fast Which by shadows are expressed; Pleasures are not, if they