I am not at home in myself. I am my own stranger.

God owns heaven but He craves the earth.

I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.

The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.

Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.

Death, I need my little addiction to you. I need that tiny voice who, even as I rise from the sea, all woman, all there, says kill me, kill me.

Look to your heart that flutters in and out like a moth. God is not indifferent to your need. You have a thousand prayers but God has one.