There's A Moment When Love Makes You

The Truth Doesn't Care What We Think Of It.

Any Given Moment - No Matter How Casual, How Ordinary - Is Poised, Full Of Gaping Life.

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

When You Put A Tremendous Amount Of Love Into Your Work, As In Any Relationship, You Can't Know - You Can Only Hope - That What You're Offering Will In Some Way Be Received. You Shape Your Love To Artistic Demands, To The Rigors Of Your Genre. But Still, It's A Labor Of Love, And It's The Nature Of Love That You Must Give It Freely.

I Wanted A Line In A Poem To Be The Hollow Ney Of The Dervish Orchestra Whose Plaintive Wail Is A Call To God. But All I Achieved Was Awkward Shrieking. Not Even The Pure Shriek Of A Reed In The Rain.