I pray this winter be gentle and kind - a season of rest from the wheel of the mind.

I'm a modern mountebank - I believe in Physiognomy - after all, we are in control of our face - it's the map of where we've been.

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

Sunday evenings are heavier than clouds with rain, darker too and often interminable.

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.

I'm not afraid of the opinions of others - but of being needed and coming up short.

The winter is kind and leaves red berries on the boughs for hungry sparrows.