may 21

the bouquet you received that morning
was my hand: the quiet webbing
between fingers soft as petals,
the gesture of bud to bloom
shy, and intimate, and approaching
something so far beyond itself--
asymptotic--but in the way that
a careful mathematician whispers it;
like a love song.

May 10

You know you are a writer
when everything else is a book.

may 5

i think that most people are afraid of the Big Death
but i am afraid of the tiny ones: the age maximum
for youth hostels / the missed opportunity to learn skiing /
the too-old-to-buy-a-new-pet because what if you die first?