“ That dandy, the sky, enters blue-suitedsun like a scotch in hand. ”
If Springtime crawls out of thewild mouths of flowers, thensurely, Winter crawls out of mine.
~ Cecilia Llompart
If the sun rolled back like an eye,it would see the mind of God.
Prayer is a many fingeredand kaleidoscopic thing—it foldsand unfolds inside of you. It entersthe many rooms you cannot enter.
There are boneswaiting for names in the graveyards.Even the sun above us is dying, onelanded repetition of light at a time.
