To love objects is to love life. The pure shaft of a single granary on the prairie, The small pool of rain in the plank of a railway siding ...
For each act of my life there seems to be a necessary purgatorial period: even the simpler things, like going to the store. What a bourgeois I am.
Who hesitates is Fortune's also-ran. He never leaves who teeters on the sill. Once I was one: I can be one no more.
By light, light; by love, love; by this, this.
from the notebooks of Theodore Roethke, culled from "Straw for the Fire" by David Wagoner, Poetry, Vol. 105, No. 2 (Nov., 1964)
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