Water was something he loved, something he respected. He understood its beauty and its dangers. He talked about swimming as if it were a way of life.

Water was something he loved, something he respected. He understood its beauty and its dangers. He talked about swimming as if it were a way of life.

But love was always something heavy for me. Something I had to carry.

I got to thinking that poems were like people. Some people you got right off the bat. Some people you just didn't get--and never would get.

Absent parents aren't abusive per se. They're neglectful. They love in a very imperfect way. There are parents like that, and they do love their daughters and sons, but they're not parents in the way that we might think of it.

I wondered about the science of storms and how sometimes it seemed that a storm wanted to break the world and how the world refused to break.

The summer sun was not meant for boys like me. Boys like me belonged to the rain.