When Anyone Escapes, My Heart

Maybe In Order To Understand Sex Fully/one Has To Risk Being Destroyed By It.

Writing Or Making Anything-a Poem, A Bird Feeder, A Chocolate Cake-has Self-respect In It. You're Working. You're Trying. You're Not Lying Down On The Ground, Having Given Up.

Maybe We Can Use A Metaphor For It, Out Of Dance. I Think For Many Years I Was Aware Of The Need, In Dance And In Life, To Breathe Deeply And To Take In More Air Than We Usually Take In.

I Was A Late Bloomer. But Anyone Who Blooms At All, Ever, Is Very Lucky.

I'm Probably So Out Of It At My Age That I Don't Know What People Think.