My house is the red earth . . . .
If you do not answer the noise and urgency of your gifts, they will turn on you. Or drag you down with their immense sadness at being abandoned.
Remember that you are this universe and that this universe is you.
I believe that poets have to be inside their poems somewhere, or the poem won't work.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
My sister accommodates me, never reproaches me with her doctrine, never tries to change me. She accepts and loves me, despite our differences.