Real Tenderness Can't Be Confused, It's Quiet

My Shadow Serves As The Friend I Crave

Poems Are My Link With The Times, With The New Life Of My People.

Wild Honey Smells Of Freedom The Dust - Of Sunlight The Mouth Of A Young Girl, Like A Violet But Gold - Smells Of Nothing.

We Thought: We're Poor, We Have Nothing, But When We Started Losing One After The Other So Each Day Became Remembrance Day, We Started Composing Poems About God's Great Generosity And Our Former Riches.

All That I Am Hangs By A Thread Tonight