The Predation Of Wolves And

Rather Than Chairs And Tables, I Preferred The Ground, Trees, And Caves, For In Those Places I Felt I Could Lean Against The Cheek Of God.

Writing, Real Writing, Should Leave A Small Sweet Bruise Somewhere On The Writer . . . And On The Reader.

Asking The Proper Question Is The Central Act Of Transformation!

I Am Built Close To The Ground And Of Extravagant Body.

The Body Remembers, The Bones Remember, The Joints Remember, Even The Little Finger Remembers. Memory Is Lodged In Pictures And Feelings In The Cells Themselves. Like A Sponge Filled With Water, Anywhere The Flesh Is Pressed, Wrung, Even Touched Lightly, A Memory May Flow Out In A Stream.