God has a brown voice, as soft and full as beer.

The body is a damn hard thing to kill.

I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.

Maybe I am becoming a hermit, opening the door for only a few special animals? Maybe my skull is too crowded and it has no opening through which to feed it soup?

... and my love stays bitterly glowing, spasms of it will not sleep, and I am helpless and thirsty and need shade but there is no one to cover me- not even God.

Abundance is scooped from abundance yet abundance remains.

...became a woman who learned her own skin and dug into her soul and found it full.