We must shine with hope, stained glass windows that shape light into icons, glow like lanterns borne before a procession. Who can bear hope back into the world but us.

The mind wraps itself around a poem. It is almost sensual, particularly if you work on a computer. You can turn the poem round and about and upside down, dancing with it a kind of bolero of two snakes twisting and coiling, until the poem has found its right and proper shape.

Where I came from, the nights I had wandered and survived scared them, and where I would go they never imagined.

Writing is a futile attempt to preserve what disappears moment by moment.

The powerful don't make revolutions

Doorways are sacred to women for we are the doorways of life and we must choose what comes in and what goes out.

Like species, couples die out or evolve.