Anything outside marriage seems like freedom and excitement.

If we had the courage to love we would not so value these acts of war.

I wanted to write a new fable and see how many rules you could break.

And if I say to you that I am glad of everything we have done together, and sorry that we will not be here together in forty years, laughing at a faded photo of you impersonating a lion, it having withered well, you less so, as we stand fabulously old, in a city that understands what spirit it takes to be old, to be beautiful, to be much looked at, to be itself, to be never quite caught, to have a past, to be content, to have seen much, to have remained, to have continued...

Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world. There is the sun dissolving the dark, and light as clear as music, filling the room where you sleep and the other rooms behind your eyes.

When she bleeds the smells I know change colour. There is iron in her soul on those days. She smells like a gun.

…only a poet could frame a language that could frame a world.