“Who says there’s just one safe way to walk, one road properly lit, and the rest – all slippery water, unmarked?”

If our dreams could edit the news (and sometimes our nightmares) these poems are how they’d wake us up to the urgency of our times.

coming to the end of spring / my grandmother kicks off her shoes / steps out of her faltering body.

Although we can get to know ourselves better by sitting down and analyzing our characteristics or by listening to others’ perspectives on us, I believe that tidying is the best way.

I’d get lost in this green, ferns leaning against the trees, soil stuck to my feet, never dream of finding my way back again.

There will be a time where this hurts less and it will not mean it didn’t matter. It means that in the face of feeling something precious slip in my hands, I will always find a way back to myself.

Playing on turf affects everything, you know, it affects the way the ball rolls, it affects the way the ball bounces, it affects the way you think about whether or not going into a slide. It’s kind of a nightmare.

A great thing would be done if all these God-visions could embrace and cast themselves into each other; but intellectual dogma and cult egoism stand in the way.

The expression “from above” is for us only a way of speaking. Many receive from above the command for action – we call it intuition.

To quietly work away at disposing of your own excess is actually the best way of dealing with a family that doesn’t tidy.

Someone once defined humor as a way to keep from killing yourself. I keep my sense of humor and I stay alive.