It Was Just Enough To Sit There

I Spend Most Of My Time Writing.

In Our Own Beginnings, We Are Formed Out Of The Body's Interior Landscape. For A Short While, Our Mothers' Bodies Are The Boundaries And Personal Geography Which Are All That We Know Of The World...once We No Longer Live Beneath Our Mother's Heart, It Is The Earth With Which We Form The Same Dependent Relationship, Relying...on Its Cycles And Elements, Helpless Without Its Protective Embrace.

We Do Know That No One Gets Wise Enough To Really Understand The Heart Of Another, Though It Is The Task Of Our Life To Try.

By The Time I Was Done With The Car It Looked Worse Than Any Typical Indian Car That Has Been Driven All Its Life On Reservation Roads, Which They Always Say Are Like Government Promises - Full Of Holes.

Love Won't Be Tampered With, Love Won't Go Away. Push It To One Side And It Creeps To The Other. Throw It In The Garbage And It Springs Up Clean. Try To Root It Out And It Only Flourishes. Love Is A Weed, A Dandelion That You Poison From Your Heart. The Taproots Wait. The Seeds Blow Off, Ticklish, Into A Part Of The Yard You Didn't Spray. And One Day, Though You Worked, Though You Prodded Out Each Spiky Leaf, You Lift Your Eyes And Dozens Of Fat Golden Faces Bob In The Grass.