I Keep Thinking, We Teach Children To

It Is Really Hard To Be Lonely Very Long In A World Of Words. Even If You Don't Have Friends Somewhere, You Still Have Language, And It Will Find You And Wrap Its Little Syllables Around You And Suddenly There Will Be A Story To Live In.

Poetry Calls Us To Pause. There Is So Much We Overlook, While The Abundance Around Us Continues To Shimmer, On Its Own.

A Poem Is A Cup Of Words Open To The Sky And Wind In A Bucket.

Like Our Parents Always Told Us Not To Like Firefighters Warn Against We're Playing Games And Making The Rules Up As We Go We're Matching Warmth To Warmth Starting Fires Burning Wishes Into Our Skin We're Hidden Holding Forbidden Lights We're Children Whose Fathers Have Never Taught Never Touch But We're Finding These New Flames We Smother At The Sound Of Footsteps.

Our Limbs Which Had Already Traveled Far Beyond Her World, Carrying The Click Of Distances In The Smooth, Untroubled Soles Of Their Shoes.