“Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appears, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted clouds - the invisible shared out in endless abundance.”

“Fire he sang,that trees fear, and I, a tree, rejoiced in its flames.New buds broke forth from me though it was full summer. As though his lyre (now I knew its name) were both frost and fire, its chords flamedup to the crown of me. I was seed again. I was fern in the swamp. I was coal. ("A Tree Telling of Orpheus")”

“A voice from the dark called out,"The poets must give usimagination of peace, to oust the intense, familiarimagination of disaster. Peace, not onlythe absence of war." But peace, like a poem,is not there ahead of itself,can't be imagined before it is made,can't be known exceptin the words of its making,grammar of justice,syntax of mutual aid. A feeling towards it,dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we haveuntil we begin to utter its metaphors,learning them as we speak. A line of peace might appearif we restructured the sentence our lives are making,revoked its reaffirmation of profit and power,questioned our needs, allowedlong pauses. . . . A cadence of peace might balance its weighton that different fulcrum; peace, a presence,an energy field more intense than war,might pulse then,stanza by stanza into the world,each act of livingone of its words, each worda vibration of light--facetsof the forming crystal.”

“Wear scarlet! Tear the green lemonsoff the tree! I don't wantto forget who I am, what has burned in me,and hang limp and clean, an empty dress -”

“I am, a shadowthat grows longer as the sunmoves, drawn outon a thread of wonder.If I bear burdensthey begin to be rememberedas gifts, goods, a basketof bread that hurtsmy shoulders but closes mein fragrance. I caneat as I go. ("Stepping Westward")”

“The AvowalAs swimmers dareto lie face to the skyand water bears them,as hawks rest upon airand air sustains them;so would I learn to attain freefall, and floatinto Creator Spirit's deep embrace,knowing no effort earnsthat all-surrounding grace.”

“1) Did the people of Viet Namuse lanterns of stone?2) Did they hold ceremoniesto reverence the opening of buds?3) Were they inclined to quiet laughter?4) Did they use bone and ivory,jade and silver, for ornament?5) Had they an epic poem?6) Did they distinguish between speech and singing?1) Sir, their light hearts turned to stone.It is not remembered whether in gardensstone lanterns illumined pleasant ways.2) Perhaps they gathered once to delight in blossom,but after the children were killedthere were no more buds.3) Sir, laughter is bitter to the burned mouth.4) A dream ago, perhaps. Ornament is for joy.All the bones were charred.5) It is not remembered. Remember,most were peasants; their lifewas in rice and bamboo.When peaceful clouds were reflected in the paddiesand the water buffalo stepped surely along terraces,maybe fathers told their sons old tales.When bombs smashed those mirrorsthere was time only to scream.6) There is an echo yetof their speech which was like a song.It was reported their singing resembledthe flight of moths in moonlight.Who can say? It is silent now.”