...I retreat into my fictional world where everything makes sense - but even there I can't even control what people do...
after life has broken you open, perhaps you may create art
I am a bed of sparks you breathe upon and kindle
burnt by the sun of your mouth, I’m unable to speak or paint you with words
I will not exorcise you—I’d miss your fragrance, the soft tread of your step on the stair
This will be a winter so desolate, only memory can fill the emptiness
you are a ring tone on the phone I didn’t answer
... here's what I believe - sometimes God has a Plan B...
The only difference between you and a dream is I haven’t woken up with you
yes, writing is mostly a dream, but angels visit in dreams
suffering breaks us until there’s nothing left but gentleness
You don’t read to exercise the mind but to take voyages
...did you know that in your eyes there are bright flecks of green and orange - and that they are lovely?...
Light a campfire and everyone’s a storyteller
...God sometimes sends flowers -but I like it best when he darkens the sky and lights up an infinitude of worlds...
the heart aches through nights—the broken places of neglect
my soul has shadows – nooks and crannies where griefs, like cobwebs, collect
I see you kneeling in church—stained only by colored windows
our hearts break, and take us out of relationships that are too painful for us
A heart never breaks in the same pattern of pieces
I write small poems— the kind that fit on a postcard… and still can break your heart
