The children walk away from me, flick flickety off at a tangent between thin blotched beech trunks, then turn like yo-yos at the end of their strings and come back to me" from the poem "In a BishopsWood Clearing

Time is not ours and we would not own it. It does not wound us to say so.from the prose poem INNOCENCE

Have trembled beneath the pressure of a light beam.

Hug while you can.

Love ENDURES and works out ways of enduring the other stuff.

my face for peace - no more war in my name

Allow the light to fall across you. Shadow or sunlight. Allow it to define your shape. In its way. Another day it may be different. It surely will be. Are we ever the same? Is the light? And the way a form presses into the grass?

Once you face the truth, the knowledge both empowers you and sets you free.

These rocks are too heavy, can't carry them any more,don't know why i ever picked them up before,going to have to put them down where they don't belong,'cause i can't get them back to where they came from.These rocks belong to no one, except history.Somewhere between the desert and the rolling sea,or maybe up in the mountains blue and tall,I picked them but now i'm going to let them fall.

Count the inspirations. The exquisite inspirations that have whispered in the night. And swum away like fish in the cool of morning. Would any of them have altered the patterns of your life? The precise arrangement of your atoms?