I Was Probably 35 When I Wrote

This Wasn't The Sea Of The Inexorable Horizon And Smashing Waves, Not The Sea Of Distance And Violence, But The Sea Of The Etenally Leveling Patience And Wetness Of Water. Whether It Comes To You In A Storm Or In A Cup, It Owns You--we Are More Water Than Dust. It Is Our Origin And Our Destination.

Memories Assailed Him Of How Gently She Had Spoken, Touched, And Moved; Of How She'd Loved Him Fiercely Despite His Mistakes And Obsessions And Weaknesses. And The Conviction Descended On Him That Love Like Theirs Couldn't Possibly Suffer Any Change.

Will You Believe Me When I Tell You There Was Kindness In His Heart? His Left Hand Didn't Know What His Right Hand Was Doing. It Was Only That Certain Important Connections Had Been Burned Through. If I Opened Up Your Head And Ran A Hot Soldering Iron Around In Your Brain, I Might Turn You Into Someone Like That.

We Can’t Always Tell The Whole Story About Ourselves.

I Hate Two Kinds Of Sentences You Hear In Workshops, The Ones Beginning "i Really Like ..." And The Ones Beginning "my Problem With This Poem Is ..."