Slowly my body grows a single sound, slowly I become a bell, an oval, disembodied vowel, I grow, an owl, an aureole, white fire poesia "Metamorfosi, I. Luna

I have never separated the writing of poetry from prayer. I have grown up believing it is a vocation, a religious vocation.

Damn wind shift sudden as a woman mind.

Slowly my body grows a single sound, slowly I become a bell, an oval, disembodied vowel, I grow, an owl, an aureole, white fire poesia "Metamorfosi, I. Luna

When poems are no good they don't make any sense.

The word and the shadow of the word / makes a thing both itself and something else / till we are metaphors and not ourselves . . .

Love After Love all your life, whom you have ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.