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The Greeks were right. The land beneath the pole star   toward which the great bear noses his bright stars,   never hiding that constant and fruitless work, is mirrored.   Take this, then, as proof that imagination is not…
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Gone Fishing

There's your hoe out in the sun Where you left a row half done —Louis Armstrong and Bing Cosby Catfish, bream, and redeye bass, River of Muscadines, of hardwood bluffs, and mossy grottoes,
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On Space

About six years ago I became friends with the great nature writer John Hay and that friendship has been a source of deep pleasure for me. One day, while I was visiting him in Maine, we found ourselves talking about…
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The Space Between

Where is the fear this afternoon? Where did it go and why can’t I locate it now? A goldfinch flies up while other leaves, gold and russety, sift and fall. A flight up, a flight down, the very air marked,