Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside

Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance.

Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.

I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.

I am stuffing your mouth with your promises and watching you vomit them out upon my face.

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.

Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark.