Today when I begin writing I’m aware: something that I don’t understand drives this engine.

I wish you were that birch rising from the clump behind you, and I the gray oak alongside.

Opposites are attracted when each one is anxious about its own character.

I want to sleep like the birds then wake to write you again without hope that you read me.

In football they measure forty-yard sprints. Nobody runs forty yards in basketball. Maybe you run the ninety-four feet of the court; then you stop, not on a dime, but on Miss Liberty's torch. In football you run over somebody's face.

When we put words together - adjective with noun, noun with verb, verb with object - we start to talk to each other.

We made in those days tiny identical rooms inside our bodies which the men who uncover our graves will find in a thousand years shining and whole.