What can I have that I still want?

We are all jellyfish, too pitiful and too afraid of being disliked to be honest.

People are always talking about the joys of youth-but, oh, how youth can suffer!

May we agree that private life is irrelevant? Multiple, mixed, ambiguous at best - out of it we try to fashion the crystal clear, the singular, the absolute, and that is what is relevant; that is what matters.

Love opens the doors into everything, as far as I can see, including and perhaps most of all, the door into one's own secret, and often terrible and frightening, real self.

I would like to believe when I die that I have given myself away like a tree that sows seed every spring and never counts the loss, because it is not loss, it is adding to future life. It is the tree's way of being. Strongly rooted perhaps, but spilling out its treasure on the wind.

The beginner hugs his infant poem to him and does not want it to grow up. But you may have to break your poem to remake it.