A poem records emotions and moods that lie beyond normal language, that can only be patched together and hinted at metaphorically.

Words are small shapes in the gorgeous chaos of the world.

Words are such small things, like confetti in the brain, and yet they are color and clarify everything, they can stain the mind or warp the feelings.

Touch seems to be as essential as sunlight.

We would lie on coral sand, below sugary stars, watching Cassiopeia mount her throne and the Great Bear wash its paws in the South. I would say, "I have a secret to tell you." And, folding me in your arms, boyish and sly, you would answer: "Whisper it into my mouth.

The daftest logic brings such sweet unrest.

There's no place you can go on the prairie that you don't hear the white noise of the wind, steady and rough as surf curling along a non-existant shore.