Grief held back from the lips wears at the heart; the drop that refused to join the river dried up in the dust.

Every poem breaks a silence that had to be overcome.

I came to explore the wreck.

The mind's passion is all for singling out. Obscurity has another tale to tell.

We who were loved will never unlive that crippling fever.

We must use what we have to invent what we desire.

We are, none of us, 'either' mothers or daughters; to our amazement, confusion, and greater complexity, we are both.