The poem is not the world.
It isn't even the first page of the world.

But the poem wants to flower, like a flower.
It knows that much.

It wants to open itself,
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
and less yourself than part of everything.

— Mary Oliver

— Kelsey Chen, Peach Pits

It's not what you do. That matters for almost nothing. It's how you are while you're doing it.

— Paul Myburgh, One Voice