I Think Artists Can Go To A

But Still, The Other Voice, The Intuitive, Returns, Like Grass Forcing Its Way Through Concrete.

What Always Seems Miraculous Is When Aesthetic Necessities Yield An Insight Which Otherwise I Would Have Missed.

Far More Frightening Than The Thought Of Dying Was The Experience Of Erasure Already Occurring In My Life. My Fear Of Becoming Someone Who Did Not Count.

We Are The Bird's Eggs. Bird's Eggs, Flowers, Butterflies, Rabbits, Cows, Sheep, We Are Caterpillars; We Are Leaves Of Ivy And Springs Of Wildflower. We Are Women. We Rise From The Wave. We Are Gazelle And Doe, Elephant And Whale, Lilies And Roses And Peach, We Are Air, We Are Flame, We Are Oyster And Pearl, We Are Girls. We Are Woman And Nature. And He Says He Cannot Hear Us Speak. But We Hear.

What Is Buried In The Past Of One Generation Falls To The Next To Claim.