the marriage twists, holds firm, a sailor's knot.
Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.
Sometimes the soul takes pictures of things it has wished for, but never seen.
Poetry to me is prayer.
Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.
Suicide is, after all, the opposite of the poem.