Keep Digging Your Well. Water Is There

I Know You're Tired But Come, This Is The Way.

In The Slaughterhouse Of Love, They Kill Only The Best, None Of The Weak Or Deformed. Don't Run Away From This Dying. Whoever's Not Killed For Love Is Dead Meat.

If These Poems Repeat Themselves, Then So Does Spring.

The Soul Lives There In The Silent Breath.

You're Water. We're The Millstone. You're Wind. We're Dust Blown Up Into Shapes. You're Spirit. We're The Opening And Closing Of Our Hands. You're The Clarity. We're The Language That Tries To Say It. You're Joy. We're All The Different Kinds Of Laughing.