Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go.
What is madness but nobility of the soul at odds with circumstance.
I learned not to fear infinity,The far field, the windy cliffs of forever,The dying of time in the white light of tomorrow,The wheel turning away from itself,The sprawl of the wave,The on-coming water.
The MistakeHe left his pants upon a chair:She was a widow, so she said:But he was apprehended, bare,By one who rose up from the dead.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
Self-contemplation is a curseThat makes an old confusion worse.
When true love broke my heart in half,I took the whiskey from the shelf,And told my neighbors when to laugh.I keep a dog, and bark myself.
The stones were sharp,The wind came at my back;Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.
What we need is more people who specialize in the impossible.
Over every mountain there is a path, although it may not be seen from the valley.