Here is the most telling fact: you wish to possess me.
 Here is another fact: I loved you and let you think you could.

The world tips away when we look into our children's faces.

Numbers, time, inches, feet. All are just ploys for cutting nature down to size.

There is no such thing as a complete lack of order, only a design so vast it appears unrepetitive up close.

Power travels in the bloodlines, handed out before birth.

What is this life but the sound of an appalling love.

If, as I suspect, my body survives by uttering itself over and over again, then I have some questions. If [I] am one word, so are my daughters, so are all of us in strings and loops. Each life is one short word slowly uttered.