What else is soul but a listener?
It’s not the word made flesh we want in writing, in poetry and fiction, but the flesh made word
If there were genders to genres, fiction would be unquestionably feminine.
I cannot walk under the wires. The sparrows scatter like handfuls of gravel. Really, wires are voices in thin strips. They are words wound in cables. Bars of connection.
And I am in retirement from love.
Of course there is enough to stir our wonder anywhere; there's enough to love, anywhere, if one is strong enough, if one is diligent enough, if one is perceptive, patient, kind enough -- whatever it takes.