I do think that all of us think in poems.

Later our dreams begin catching fire around the edges, they burn like paper, we wake with our hands full of ash.

We dropped our troubles into the lap of the storyteller, and they turned into someone else's.

During the Gulf War, I remember two little third grade girls saying to me - after I read them some poems by writers in Iraq - 'You know, we never thought about there being children in Iraq before.' And I thought, 'Well those poems did their job, because now they'll think about everything a little bit differently.'

I do think that all of us think in poems.

I'm writing mostly to thank you for living you eighty years and to tell you I love you and think of you often.

Read, Read, and then Read some more. Always Read. Find the voices that speak most to YOU. This is your pleasure and blessing, as well as responsibility!