Sometimes A Journey Makes Itself

To Be Running Breathlessly, But Not Yet Arrived, Is Itself Delightful, A Suspended Moment Of Living Hope.

I Never Really Got Over The Fun Of Making Letters.

Each Night About This Time He Puts On Sadness Like A Garment And Goes On Writing.

Those Nights Lying Alone Are Not Discontinuous With This Cold Hectic Dawn. It Is Who I Am.

You Doubt God? Well More To The Point I Credit God With The Good Sense To Doubt Me. What Is Mortality After All But Divine Doubt Flashing Over Us? For An Instant God Suspends Assent And Poof! We Disappear.