That icy glass reduces your beauty - dims your fire - let me be your mirror...

When I think of you it's with tears, because no one else has such delicate hands that can reach into my soul and calm my fears.

When we perfect 3-D copiers and they reproduce tissue, we'll have a million Marilyns walking around with no souls.

Freshly cut Christmas trees smelling of stars and snow and pine resin - inhale deeply and fill your soul with wintry night.

Each heart is made of a different stone - no two feel alike nor break the same way.

I love it when the dark bottle of night spills out, and the Moon writes in chalk about us.

Poetry is paying attention to life when all the world seems asleep to its beauties and truths.