I saw the separateness of all things! My heart lifted up with the great grasses; The weeds believed me, and the nesting birds. - Theodore Roethke

The mind moved, not alone, Through the clear air, in the silence.

She loved the wind because the wind loved me.

Your words are you. You are them and not much more. The Description: the fieldness of fields, the weediness of weeds… When is description mere? Never. A freshness in the seeing, an innocency in the vision, the angle of perception, the bringing together of details, not necessarily as metaphors, even, just as objects. Be one of those on whom, as Lawrence said, nothing is lost. Don’t strain for arrangement. Look and put it down and let your sensibility be the sieve.