Maybe all of these different possibilities exist at the same time, like each moment we live has a thousand other moments layered underneath it that look different.

How can someone have the power to shatter you to dust--and also to make you feel so whole?

Droplets, droplets: We are all identical drips and drops of people, hovering, waiting to be tipped, waiting for someone to show us the way, to pour us down a path. ... He has tipped us over, all of us in our teetering expectancy, and now we are pouring toward him, coursing on a wave of sound, of roaring shouts and applause. ... They are the moon; we are a tide, their tide, and under their direction we will wipe clean all the sickness and blight from the world.

It's as though the words are trapped, buried under past fears, past lives, like fossils compressed under layers of dirt.

Quiet through the grave go I; or else beneath the graves I lie

I hate skin; I hate bones and bodies. I want to curl up inside of him and be carried there forever.

Time and space recede and blast away like a universe expanding forever outward, and leaving only darkness and the two of us on its periphery, darkness and breathing and touch.