I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?
As a poet, one lives a bit on air. I always like someone who can teach me something practical.
Love life day by day, color by color, touch by touch.
Once one has seen God, what is the remedy?
Sometimes I nursed starfish alive in jam jars of seawater and watched them grow back lost arms. On this day, this awful birthday of otherness, my rival, somebody else, I flung the starfish against a stone. Let it perish.
Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person