Stars open among the lilies. Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens? This is the silence of astounded souls.

we walk the plank with strangers.

Doing all the little tricky things it takes to grow up, step by step, into an anxious and unsettling world.

because wherever I sat—on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok—I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.

Love life day by day, color by color, touch by touch.

Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: 'After a heavy rainfall, poems titled 'Rain' pour in from across the nation.

They would grow old. They would forget me.