Issue 90, Winter 1983
I could live like that,
putting my chair by the window,
making my tea,
letting the light in,
trapping the spider in my left hand.
I could pull the one book down
and find my place inside the four worlds
and face the wrong way
and live forever by mercy and wisdom.
I could love the pine tree,
and the road going back and forth like a blue thread,
and the fire inside the hills,
and the grass going down to the river—my wildest dream.