I Should Sell My Tongue

All We Really Want Is Love's Confusing Joy.

The Ripe Fignow That You Live Here In My Chest,anywhere We Sit Is A Mountaintop.and Those Other Images,which Have Enchanted Peoplelike Porcelain Dolls From China,which Have Made Men And Women Weepfor Centuries, Even Those Have Changed Now.what Used To Be Pain Is A Lovely Benchwhere We Can Rest Under The Roses.a Left Hand Has Become A Right.a Dark Wall, A Window.a Cushion In A Shoe Heel,the Leader Of The Community!now Silence. What We Sayis Poison To Someand Nourishing To Others.what We Say Is A Ripe Fig,but Not Every Bird That Flieseats Figs.

The Universe And The Light Of The Stars Come Through Me.

To Love Is To Reach God.

You're Water. We're The Millstone. You're Wind. We're Dust Blown Up Into Shapes. You're Spirit. We're The Opening And Closing Of Our Hands. You're The Clarity. We're The Language That Tries To Say It. You're Joy. We're All The Different Kinds Of Laughing.