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

I burn the way money burns.

The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.

She is so naked and singular. She is the sum of yourself and your dream. Climb her like a monument, step after step. She is solid.

In a letter (no matter how quickly it is written or honestly or freely or lovingly) it is more possible to be loving and lovable, more possible to reach out and to take in ... I feel I have somehow deceived you into thinking this is really a human relationship. It is a letter relationship between humans.

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.

Not that it was beautiful, but that, in the end, there was a certain sense of order there; something worth learning in that narrow diary of my mind