Reading A Poem In Translation Is Like

Now We're Like Planets, Holding To Each Other From A Great Distance. [...] Now We're Hundreds Of Miles Apart, Our Short Arms Keep Us Lonely, No One Hears What's In My Head. [...] It's March, Even The Birds Don't Know What To Do With Themselves.

History Is The Gradual Instant

Even As A Child, Even As My Blood-past Was Drained From Me, I Understood That If I Were Strong Enough To Accept It, I Was Being Offered A Second History.

It Is Not A Person’s Depth You Must Discover, But Their Ascent. Find Their Path From Depth To Ascent.

Hold A Book In Your Hand And You're A Pilgrim At The Gates Of A New City.