I'm on the way, always on the way (from the sea)

To tell you how much I love you.

When the mail comes, I date it and open it to make sure no bombs or anthrax reach the abortion providers.

The issues don’t stop once you’re published. Publishing a book forces you to reckon with yourself in a way that few professional feats do. It makes you ask, “Who am I and what are my intentions?”

Eucalyptus,
window. Filtered
water for the vase
for the flowers.

In those dropout days when I had nothing left to worship, I worshipped Cora.

They slid their hands into your mouth,
a horseless bit.

As soon as someone who’s alone can feel the touch of two hands—that’s when everything has to be reconsidered—all of science, all philosophy, all psychology.

Life goes on, unceasing beauty, unceasing terror, everything in between, testing the limits of your longing. In that era, I felt as if I were floating forever toward infinity or nothingness.