No night is long enough for us to dream twice.
My love, I fear the silence of your hands.
Maybe the moon is beautiful only because it is far.
If the Olive Trees knew the hands that planted them, Their Oil would become Tears.
I want to find a language that transforms language itself into steel for the spirit--a language to use against these sparkling insects, these jets.
I see poetry as spiritual medicine.
I believe in the power of poetry, which gives me reasons to look ahead and identify a glint of light.