In a dark time, the eye begins to see / I meet my shadow in the deepening shade...Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.

By daily dying, I have come to be.

What's important? That which is dug out of books, or out of the guts?

So much of adolescence is an ill-defined dying, An intolerable waiting, A longing for another place and time, Another condition.

The stones were sharp, The wind came at my back; Walking along the highway, Mincing like a cat.

In this place of light: he dares to live Who stops being a bird, yet beats his wings Against the immense immeasurable emptiness of things.

Love is not love until love's vulnerable.