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This fire that we call Loving is too strong for human minds. But just right for human souls.

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A poet is a verb that blossoms light in gardens of dawn, or sometimes midnight.

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What hell condemned, let heaven now heal.

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When a reader enters the pages of a book of poetry, he or she enters a world where dreams transform the past into knowledge made applicable to the pre...more

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This world’s anguish is no different from the love we insist on holding back.

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And now we step to the rhythm of miracles.--from The Light, That Never Dies

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History is a hermaphrodite with many distinguished lovers. We are neither mysteries nor strangers but the living breath of revelation made flesh by th...more

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Beneath the armor of skin/and/bone/and/mindmost of our colors are amazingly the same.

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In a rich moonlit garden, flowers open beneath the eyes of entire nations terrified to acknowledge the simplicity of the beauty of peace.

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Time (again, Time) like the soul, wears many faces, many bodies and climates and attitudes. The past is one face, the present a second and the future ...more

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Everywhere we shine death and life burn into something new…

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How many fears came between us?Earthquakes, diseases, wars where hellrained smoldering pus from skies made of winged death.Horror tore this world asun...more

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Unless you are here: this garden refuses to exist.Pink dragonflies fall from the airand become scorpions scratching blood out of rocks.The rainbows th...more

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Dreams dress us carefully in the colors of power and faith.

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In this quiet place on a quiet streetwhere no one ever finds usgently, lovingly, freedom gives back our pain.--from poem In a Quiet Place on a Quiet S...more