My Father Was A Painter

My Line Of Vision Was Such That The Creature Filled The Moon Like A Fossil. It Had Gone There, I Thought, To Live And Die, For There, Of All Places, Was Its Small Definition Made Whole And Eternal

I Sometimes Think The Contemporary White American Is More Culturally Deprived Than The Indian.

Her Name Is Ago, And She Belonged To The Last Culture To Evolve In North America.

They Have Assumed The Names And Gestures Of Their Enemies, But Have Held On To Their Own, Secret Souls; And In This There Is A Resistance And An Overcoming, A Long Outwaiting.

To Look Upon That Landscape In The Early Morning, With The Sun At Your Back, Is To Lose The Sense Of Proportion.