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

I'm sure I've been a toad, one time or another. With bats, weasels, worms...I rejoice in the kinship. Even the caterpillar I can love, and the various vermin.

I learn by going where I have to go.

I am overwhelmed by the beautiful disorder of poetry, the eternal virginity of words.

The self says, I am; The heart says, I am less; The spirit says, you are Nothing.

Be sure that whatever you are is you.

May my silences become more accurate.