Why Are We So Monumentally Slow?

My Mother Used To Tell Me When I Went Somewhere, "please Leave Your Foolishness At Home." But How Could I Do That? It Was Stuck On Me.

I Still Have Everything You Gave Me It Is Dusty On The Edges. It Is Slightly Rotten. I Guard It Without Thinking. I Focus On It Once A Year When I Shake It Out In The Wind. I Do Not Ache. I Would Not Trade.

The Hands Are Churches That Worship The World.

My Father Was Very Disappointed By War And Fighting. And He Thought Language Could Help Us Out Of Cycles Of Revenge And Animosity. And So, As A Journalist, He Always Found Himself Asking Lots Of Questions And Trying To Gather Information. He Was Always Very Clear To Underscore The Fact That Jewish People And Arab People Were Brother And Sister.

Maybe We Try Too Hard To Be Remembered, Waking To The Glowing Yellow Disc In Ignorance, Swearing That Today Will Be The Day, Today We Will Make Something Of Our Lives. What If We Are So Busy Searching For Worth That We Miss The Sapphire Sky And Cackling Blackbird. What Else Is Missing? Maybe Our Steps Are Too Straight And Our Paths Too Narrow And Not Overlapping. Maybe When They Overlap Someone In Another Country Lights A Candle, A Couple Resolves Their Argument, A Young Man Puts Down His Silver Gun And Walks Away.