I thought I was being loved because I was being altered.

We are expanded by tears, we are told, not reduced by them.

We keep wanting to save those who are forlorn in this world. It’s a male habit.

The past is still, for us, a place that is not safely settled.

He turns his back to the far shore and rows toward it. He can in this way travel away from, yet still see, his house....he feels he is riding a floating skeleton...Some birds in the almost-dark are flying as close to their reflections as possible.

In the desert the most loved waters, like a lover's name, are carried blue in your hands, enter your throat. One swallows absence.

What is interesting and important happens mostly in secret, in places where there is no power. Nothing much of lasting value ever happens at the head table, held together by a familiar rhetoric. Those who already have power continue to glide along the familiar rut they have made for themselves.