Knowledge Of Peace Passes From

The Memory Of My Father Is Wrapped Up In White Paper, Like Sandwiches Taken For A Day Of Work. Just As A Magician Takes Towers And Rabbits Out Of His Hat, He Drew Love From His Small Body.

Love Is Like A Reservoir Of Kindness And Pleasure, Like Silos And Pools During A Siege.

It Was Not An Adventure; It Was My Life.

Even If A Poet Writes About Sitting In A Glass House Drinking Tea, It Reflects Politics.

I’ve Never Been In Those Places Where I’ve Never Been And Never Will Be, I Have No Share In The Infinity Of Light-years And Dark-years, But The Darkness Is Mine, And The Light, And My Time Is My Own.