Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth.

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

maybe we try too hard to be remembered, waking to the glowing yellow disc in ignorance, swearing that today will be the day, today we will make something of our lives. what if we are so busy searching for worth that we miss the sapphire sky and cackling blackbird. what else is missing? maybe our steps are too straight and our paths too narrow and not overlapping. maybe when they overlap someone in another country lights a candle, a couple resolves their argument, a young man puts down his silver gun and walks away.

I support all people on earth who have bodies like and unlike my body.

Today you will say things you can predict and other things you could never imagine this minute. Don't reject them, let them come through when they're ready, don't think you can plan it al out. This day will never, no matter how long you live, happen again. It is exquisitely singular. It will never again be exactly repeated.

Because sometimes I live in a hurricane of words and not one of them can save me.

A poem is a cup of words open to the sky and wind in a bucket.