So what is wild? What is wilderness? What are dreams but an internal wilderness and what is desire but a wildness of the soul?

To love another another human in all of her splendor and imperfect perfection , it is a magnificent task...tremendous and foolish and human.

By the time I was done with the car it looked worse than any typical Indian car that has been driven all its life on reservation roads, which they always say are like government promises - full of holes.

The only time I see the truth is when I cross my eyes.

Her mind was present because she was always gone. Her hands were filled because they grasped the meaning of empty. Life was simple. Her husband returned and she served him with indifferent patience this time. When he asked what had happened to her heat for him, she gestured to the west. The sun was setting. The sky was a body of fire.

I spend most of my time writing.

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