What men build, in the name of security, is built of straw.
Does the grain of sand know it is a grain of sand?
My dog Ben — a mouth like a tabernacle.
You can have the other words – chance, luck, coincidence, serendipity. I’ll take grace. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I’ll take it.
The pine cone has secrets it will never tell.
Myself, myself, myself, that darling hut!
How quick it will burn!
Death listens to the hum and strike of my words. His laughter spills.
Spring: there rises up from the earth such a blazing sweetness it fills you, thank God, with disorder.
I am a performing artist; I perform admiration. Come with me, I want my poems to say. And do the same.
Winter Hours (2000), Mary Oliver