The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.

A woman / who loves a woman / is forever young.

Thief!- how did you crawl into, crawl down alone into the death I wanted so badly and for so long.

Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.

Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.

It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

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