Lightning, your presence from ground to sky, no one knows what becomes of me, when you take me so quickly.

Poems reach up like spindrift and the edge of driftwood along the beach, wanting! They derive from a slow and powerful root that we can’t see. Stop the words now. Open the window in the center of your chest, and let the spirits fly in and out.

The angel is free because of his knowledge, the beast because of his ignorance. Between the two remains the son of man to struggle.

Love comes with a knife, not some shy question, and not with fears for its reputation!

Be silent. That heart speaks without tongue or lips.

Feel the delight of walking in the noisy street and being the noise.

Wings of Love long only to fly away from all directions.