Our Task Is To Listen To The

Openness, Patience, Receptivity, Solitude Is Everything.

No, We Don't Accomplish Our Love In A Single Year As The Flowers Do; An Immemorial Sap Flows Up Through Our Arms When We Love. Dear Girl, This: That We Loved, Inside Us, Not One Who Would Someday Appear, But Seething Multitudes; Not Just A Single Child, But Also The Fathers Lying In Our Depths Like Fallen Mountains; Also The Dried-up Riverbeds Of Ancient Mothers-;also The Whole Soundless Landscape Under The Clouded Or Clear Sky Of Its Destiny -; All This, My Dear, Preceded You.

To Work Is To Live Without Dying.

Across The Moment, Aeons Speak With Aeons. More Than We Experienced Has Gone By.

Trees Do Not Force Their Sap, Nor Does The Flower Push Its Bloom.