I Was Sand, I Was Snow—written On,

Touch Comes Before Sight, Before Speech. It Is The First Language And The Last, And It Always Tells The Truth.

Some Cleric Putting A Match To Her. /neither Of Them Looks Happy About It. /once Lit, She'll Burn Like A Book, /like A Book That Was Ever Finished, /like A Locked-up Library.

A Voice Is A Human Gift; It Should Be Cherished And Used, To Utter Fully Human Speech As Possible. Powerlessness And Silence Go Together.

She Knows Herself To Be At The Mercy Of Events, And She Knows By Now That Events Have No Mercy.

Don't Wait Until You're 'in The Mood.' Get Into The Mood By Writing.