Sometimes When A Character In A Novel

Purple As Tulips In May, Mauve Into Lush Velvet, Purple As The Stain Blackberries Leave On The Lips, On The Hands, The Purple Of Ripe Grapes Sunlit And Warm As Flesh.

Nobody Can Live On A Bridge Or Plant Potatoes But It Is Fine For Comings And Goings, Meetings, Partings And Long Views And A Real Connection To Someplace Else Where You May In The Crazy Weathers Of Struggle How And Again Want To Be.

One Of The Best Gifts You Can Give A Poet Is To Present Them With Field Guides - To Rocks, To Stars, To Birds, To Wildflowers, To Trees And Bushes, To Butterflies, To Reptiles And Amphibians. Because When You Look At Anything Long Enough To Be Able To Identify It, You See Far More Clearly And You Make A Tiny Beginning At Understanding The Life, The Place, The History Of That Bird Or Rock Or Mammal.

Connections Are Made Slowly, Sometimes They Grow Underground.

The People I Love The Best, Jump Into Work Head First Without Dallying In The Shallows.