life is a trick, life is a kitten in a sack.

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.

You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed; lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.

God owns heaven but He craves the earth.

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?

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

The beautiful feeling after writing a poem is on the whole better even than after sex, and that's saying a lot.