If all you can do is crawl, start crawling.

For sixty years I have been forgetful every minute, but not for a second has this flowing toward me stopped or slowed.

They say there is a doorway from heart to heart, but what is the use of a door when there are no walls?

The ground submits to the sky and suffers whatever comes. Tell me, is the Earth worse for giving in like that?

When you see the setting, wait for the rising. Why worry about a sunset or a fading moon?

Love itself describes its own perfection. Be speechless and listen.

How will you know the difficulties of being human, if you are always flying off to blue perfection? Where will you plant your grief seeds? Workers need ground to scrape and hoe, not the sky of unspecified desire.