Growing old is a form of gloating decay where your deepest lines are written by laughter and gravity.

I get lost easily, even now.

The hells they reproach are strewn around them like asphodel. Above, the Milky Way shines in broad daylight, a hundred billion burning strips of paper.

It’s sugar that makes fruit gel. Sugar preserves. Sugar is an everyday miracle. It causes fruit to retain its bright color, until it is brighter than it ever was on the tree. Heat and sugar alchemize to turn a jar of jam into a glowing jewel.

Aside from my children and wife, literature has been the intensest delight of my life.

Is it wrong to believe I’m due what was promised?

We want to transform the museum into a place of reflection and contemplation.

In the virgin’s garden a ladder is kept for angels to step up & down.

Joyous and broken, we stared at our hands, folded, strangely unable to pray.