Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.

Your heart knows the way. Run in that direction.

In your light I learn how to love. In your beauty, how to make poems. You dance inside my chest where no-one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art.

Come, come, whoever you are. Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving. It doesn't matter. Ours is not a caravan of despair. Come, even if you have broken your vows a thousand times. Come, yet again, come, come.

Your hand opens and closes, opens and closes. If it were always a fist or always stretched open, you would be paralysed. Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding, the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated as birds' wings.

There's hidden sweetness in the stomach's emptiness.

You think because you understand 'one' you must also understand 'two', because one and one make two. But you must also understand 'and'.