The Price Of Seeing Is

I Want To Be With People Who Submerge In The Task, Who Go Into The Fields To Harvest And Work In A Row And Pass The Bags Along, Who Are Not Parlor Generals And Field Deserters But Move In A Common Rhythm When The Food Must Come In Or The Fire Be Put Out. The Work Of The World Is Common As Mud. Botched, It Smears The Hands, Crumbles To Dust. But The Thing Worth Doing Well Done Has A Shape That Satisfies, Clean And Evident.

I Don't Even Remember What Mother And I Quarreled About: It Is A Continual Quarrel That Began When I Reached Puberty.

Your Anger Was A Climate I Inhabited Like A Desert In A Dry Frigid Weather Of High Thin Air And Ivory Sun, Sand Dunes The Wind Lifted Into Stinging Clouds That Blinded And Choked Me Where The Only Ice Was In The Blood.

I Am A Driven Writer. I Feel Guilty If I Don't Write, Not Self-indulgent If I Do.

Our Wedding Plans Please Everybody As If We Were Fertilizing The Earth And Creating Social Luck.