Death may whiten in sun or out of it.
The lawn was white with doctors
At twenty I tried to die And get back, back, back to you. I thought even the bones would do.
If the body is a temple, then tattoos are its stained glass windows.
And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty. And like the cat I have nine times to die.
I must learn more about these peopleโtry to understand them, put myself in their place. No, instead I am so busy keeping my head above water that I scarcely know who I am, much less who anyone else is.