The sound in the room is like the lace of a dragonfly's wing. . .
I don't care if you want to call me crazy,/ but this silken roof-top breeze is a living presence. . .
You took my hand and then the other one too, and said, 'You're swell, you are. You're the only one here I can talk to. I'd feel lost if you weren't here.' I wanted to kiss you but Mommy always told me don't be forward, they'll think you're cheap.
When I think of connection, I find myself in a cattailed stream full of croaking life and healing mud and swooping shadows cast by red-winged blackbirds.
...it was only life that got in the way...
I sit and wait to feel astonishment land in my hand like a bird
White was not so much a color, or, as some say, the absence of color, as it was a feeling under my fingertips when I touched the outside of our house. . .
I awoke at what I guessed was about an hour before dawn. I heard no shrill, drunken voices shouting good night or getting the last word in an argument that started before the pubs closed.
I go blind sometimes in the face of great beauty. It could be a river gorge, the cathedral of a forest, or a sunset singing its heart out. . .
Basil grew thick and tall in ancient clay pots all around Niko's house: at the foot of each set of red stone stairs, and flanking each heavy wooden door. . .
We lived in the Age of Aretha./ We stood on the deck of the ship/ she sailed. We were lifted in her/ updrafts when she beat her wings and soared. . .
What did I carry in my medicine bag? There was a coat my mother kept in the space behind the back seat of her Volkwagen bug. The car was pumpkin, the coat avocado,