“I am a girl, only four. My dad is pushing me down the grocery aisle; he lets go, and the space between life and death carries me past the cereal boxes. I squeal, I know my dad will catch me.”

“Time we have bottled, it exists to you and me right now but you feel it too – it is slipping through our fingertips, the fingertips that one day we will look down upon and see the wrinkled skin, it is melting before our eyes, the eyes that will one day show us a cloudy world, it is running away from us and we know that our knees will only get weaker.”

“There’s a fishing line in the clouds, how

foolish, 

a hook cutting through mist.

Does the bucket man know?

There’s nothing 

to catch?”

“I dream of Europe, though it’s not quite Europe. I dream of an orange tree speckled with sunlight. I dream of terracotta balconies. I dream of a white cat curling his tail around my arm so that I feel gentle and worthy.”

“my little bag of you \ too small to hold \ even one thing yet it \ encompasses all that you left \ behind”