I'll Be Looking At The Moon, But

This Last Night We Tear Into Each Other, As If To Wound, As If To Find The Key To Everything Before Morning.

I Believe In Such Cartography – To Be Marked By Nature, Not Just Label Ourselves On A Map Like The Names Of Rich Men And Women On Buildings. We Are Communal Histories, Communal Books. ... All I Desired Was To Walk Upon Such An Earth That Had No Maps.

Her Hand Touched Me At The Wrist. "if I Gave You My Life, You Would Drop It. Wouldn't You?" I Didn't Say Anything.

Sleep Is A Prison For A Boy Who Has Friends To Meet.

There Is The Hidden Presence Of Others In Us, Even Those We Have Known Briefly. We Contain Them For The Rest Of Our Lives, At Every Border That We Cross.