I love the solitude of reading. I love the deep dive into someone else's story, the delicious ache of a last page.

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

The hands are churches that worship the world.

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.

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

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

Peter Conners stunning prose poems are packed with keen sensitivity, dreaminess, and wit. I love his time travels, the vibrant layering of image and detail. Try taking walks as you are reading this book- the dazzle of landscapes, inner and outer, feel replenished and rich. This is language and vision I want to come home to again and again.