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.

If you want your own distinctive voice, you first have to become someone.

I make no apology about stirring the depths - every human longs to swim under water and see what lurks beneath

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

December's wintery breath is already clouding the pond, frosting the pane, obscuring summer's memory.

It must be hard when you are a beautiful woman and no one will look at your soul.