When Allowed To Return To

I Say Yes When I Mean No And The Wrinkle Grows.

I Want To Be Famous In The Way A Pulley Is Famous, Or A Buttonhole, Not Because It Did Anything Spectacular, But Because It Never Forgot What It Could Do.

I Have Always Loved The Gaps, The Spaces Between Things, As Much As The Things. I Love Staring, Pondering, Mulling, Puttering. I Love The Times When Someone Or Something Is Late-there's That Rich Possibility Of Noticing More, In The Meantimepoetry Calls Us To Pause. There Is So Much We Overlook, While The Abundance Around Us Continues To Shimmer, On Its Own.

Being Good Felt Like A Heavy Coat, So I Took It Off.

For You Who Came So Far; For You Who Held Out, Wearing A Black Scarf To Signify Grief; For You Who Believe True Love Can Find You Amidst This Atlas Of Tears Linking One Town To Its Own Memory Of Mortar, When It Was Still A Dream To Be Built And People Moved There, Believing, And Someone With Sky And Birds In His Heart Said This Would Be A Good Place For A Park.