Being alive is a common road. It's what we notice makes us different.

Poetry calls us to pause. There is so much we overlook, while the abundance around us continues to shimmer, on its own.

Sometimes there’s no one to listen to what you really might like to say at a certain moment. The paper always listens.

The person you have known a long tme is embedded in you like a jewel. The person you have just met casts out a few glistening beams & you are fascinated to see more of them. How many more are there? With someone you've barely met the curiosity is intoxicating.

our limbs which had already traveled far beyond her world, carrying the click of distances in the smooth, untroubled soles of their shoes.

I think the job of writing and literature is to encourage each one of us to believe that we're living in a story.

Mystery: Everything felt better before you got there than when you actually got there. When you actually got there, you didn't quite have the energy to be there.