Facts interest me less than the trailing smoke of stories.
A poem is a cup of words open to the sky and wind in a bucket.
Poetry calls us to pause. There is so much we overlook, while the abundance around us continues to shimmer, on its own.
I want to be someone making music/with my coming.
Maybe when your mother died young, you became instantly old.
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.