Walking into the distance, traveling since your youth Crossing so many rivers, climbing so many peaks Until one day you find the road to your old home And finally you realize how long a trip it’s been.


Now I have a single robe, Not made of gauze or of figured silk. Do you know what colour it is? Not crimson, nor purple either. Summer days I wear it as a cloak, In winter it serves as a quilt. Summer and winter in turn I use it; Year after year, only this.

Jane Hirshfield

They have discovered, they say, the protein of itch— natriuretic polypeptide b— and that it travels its own distinct pathway inside my spine. As do pain, pleasure, and heat. A body it seems is a highway, a cloverleaf crossing well built, well traversed. Some of me going north, some going south. Ninety percent of my […]

Terrance Hayes

American Sonnet For The New Year things got terribly ugly incredibly quickly things got ugly embarrassingly quickly actually things got ugly unbelievably quickly honestly things got ugly seemingly infrequently initially things got ugly ironically usually awfully carefully things got ugly unsuccessfully occasionally things got ugly mostly painstakingly quietly seemingly things got ugly beautifully infrequently things […]

Mary Oliver

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Reading of her death, I […]


For a long while I’ve abandoned human realms, beyond attachments, Writing with brush and inkstone already discarded. Seeing flowers and hearing birdsong brings little attraction. Though dwelling in mountains, I’m still ashamed at my lack of talent.