Now I am going back And I have ripped my hand From your hand as I said I would And I have made it this far.

And we are magic talking to itself, noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins forgotten. Am I still lost? Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself

As it has been said: Love and a cough cannot be concealed. Even a small cough. Even a small love.

The Witch's Life" When I was a child there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she peered from her second story window from behind the wrinkled curtains and sometimes she would open the window and yell: Get out of my life! She had hair like kelp and a voice like a boulder. I think of her sometimes now and wonder if I am becoming her.

The joy that isn't shared dies young.

God went out of me as if the sea dried up like sandpaper, as if the sun became a latrine. God went out of my fingers. They became stone. My body became a side of mutton and despair roamed the slaughterhouse.

I must always forget how one word is able to pick out another, to manner another, until I have got something I might have said... but did not.