How many years have slipped through our hands? At least as many as the constellations we still can identify. The quarter moon, like a light skiff, floats out of the mist-remnants Of last night’s hard rain. It, too, will slip… — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
It's linkage I'm talking about, and harmonies and structures, And all the various things that lock our wrists to the past. — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
What makes us leave what we love best? What is it inside us that keeps erasing itself When we need it most, That sends… — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
“At dawn, in the great meadow, a solitude As easy as white paint comes down from the mountains To daydream, bending the grass. I… — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
“Clear night, thumb-top of a moon, a back-lit sky. Moon-fingers lay down their same routine On the side deck and the threshold, the white… — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
Some people have everything Other people don't But everything don't mean a thing If it ain't the thing you want — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
“Ars Poetica II" I find, after all these years, I am a believer— I believe what the thunder and lightning have to say; I… — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
It may not be written in any book, but it is written - You can't go back, you can't repeat the unrepeatable. — Charles Wright Copy Share Image
