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Laura
Wild, Wild This is what love is: the dry rose bush the gardener, in his pruning, missed suddenly bursts into bloom. A madness of delight, an obsession. A holy gift, certainly. But often, alas, improbable.... More »
Laura
A few weeks ago I went over to the little pond where I sometimes go to read, write, think, meditate, take pictures, pray. My mother's buried just up the hill and the forty acres that... More »
Laura
For Otter, as promised. This poem has meant a lot to me over the years. I was trying to recall the "story" that I wanted to tell you all about it, but I can't remember... More »
Laura
What Is There Beyond Knowing What is there beyond knowing that keeps calling to me? I can't turn in any direction but it's there. I don't mean the leaves' grip and shine or even... More »
Laura
Coleman Barks is the preeminent Rumi translator and a fine poet in his own right. He lives in Athens, Ga, and I used to see him around there one place or another a good bit.... More »
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