Like a jar you housed the infinite tenderness, and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.

I have never thought of my life as divided between poetry and politics.

Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?

Take it all back. Life is boring, except for flowers, sunshine, your perfect legs. A glass of cold water when you are really thirsty. The way bodies fit together. Fresh and young and sweet. Coffee in the morning. These are just moments. I struggle with the in-betweens. I just want to never stop loving like there is nothing else to do, because what else is there to do?

The typewriter separated me from a deeper intimacy with poetry, and my hand brought me closer to that intimacy again.

With which stars do they go on speaking,the rivers that never reach the sea?

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.