“For the grace of the presence, be grateful. Touch the cloth of the robe, but do not pull it toward you, or like an arrow it will leave the bow. Images. Presence plays with form, fleeing and hiding as the sky does in water, now one place, now nowhere. Imagination cannot contain the absolute. These poems are elusive because the presence is. I love the rose that is not a rose, but the second I try to speak it, any name for God becomes so-and-so, and vanishes. What you thought to draw lifts off the paper, as what you love slips from your heart.”
