POETRY: A sliver of the moon lost in the belly of a golden frog.
Now is the time. It is never too late to start something.
After the sunset on the prairie, there are only the stars
Poetry is any page from a sketchbook of outlines of a doorknob with thumb-prints of dust, blood, dreams.
Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves. They flickered out saying: "It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds.
Poetry is a series of explanations of life, fading off into horizons too swift for explanations.