... This Is The Paradox Of Vision:

One Can Find Traces Of Every Life In Each Life.

I Love That Moment In Writing When Language Falls Short. There Is Something More There. A Larger Body. Even By The Failure Of Words I Begin To Detect Its Dimensions. As I Work The Prose, Shift The Verbs, Look For New Adjectives, A Different Rhythm, Syntax, Something New Begins To Come To The Surface.

I Am Not So Different In My History Of Abandonment From Anyone Else After All. We Have All Been Split Away From The Earth, Each Other, Ourselves.

We Keep Secrets From Ourselves That All Along We Know.

A Story Is Told As Much By Silence As By Speech.