Eating a number of dried plums. Their seeds were bright and orange, but they will not grow. I cast them on the ground, to do what they will.

that which is careworn, old, mended, lacking in some way from the ideal of perfection...these may by some be accounted as perfect in another way, for the express reason of their flaws.

sometimes through disuse, for a little while, those things we thought familiar and essential are shown to us, perhaps and perhaps not so; and in either case in a new and unexpected light.

I have not written or given much thought to poetry for about nine days, or near enough, as far as I can reckon it. It is time to put away the dreams of the past, and of the future, and to live in truth, in the present.