I Go Down To The Shore I

In The Glare Of Your Mind, Be Modest. And Beholden To What Is Tactile, And Thrilling.

Be Good-natured And Untidy In Your Exuberance.

Poetry Is One Of The Ancient Arts, And It Began, As Did All The Fine Arts, Within The Original Wilderness Of The Earth. Also, It Began Through The Process Of Seeing, And Feeling, And Hearing, And Smelling, And Touching, And Then Remembering--i Mean Remembering In Words--what These Perceptual Experiences Were Like, While Trying To Describe The Endless Invisible Fears And Desires Of Our Inner Lives.

Every Morning I Walk Like This Around The Pond, Thinking: If The Doors Of My Heart Ever Close, I Am As Good As Dead.

I Don't Know Exactly What A Prayer Is. I Do Know How To Pay Attention.