Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren

Somebody who should have been born is gone.

A woman who writes feels too much.

Images are the heart of poetry ... You're not a poet without imagery.

The joy that isn't shared dies young.

The grass as bristly and stout as chives and me wondering when the ground will break and me wondering how anything fragile survives

Love? Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. To love another is something like prayer and can't be planned, you just fall into its arms because your belief undoes your disbelief.