You have the chicken, the hen, and the rooster. The chicken goes with the hen So who is having sex with the rooster?

What power has love but forgiveness?

My surface is myself. Under which to witness, youth is buried. Roots? Everybody has roots.

A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.

But the sea which no one tends is also a garden

For the beginning is assuredly the end- since we know nothing, pure and simple, beyond our own complexities.

The business of love is cruelty which, by our wills, we transform to live together.