I wish sometimes I could be less fierce with you. NoโI feel sometimes like I ought to want to be less fierce with you. That thisโwhatever this isโwould be better served by tenderness, by gentle kindness.
โFuck.โ He shudders. โYou're killing me, Snow.โ
I'm killing me, too. There won't be anything left of me after they take off the wings. โI'm sorryโ
Not you. I say โI am happyโ and you believe me. Your eyeless senses know the truth through hearing the song of me. I wear cologne for you. I clothe my hands in leather for you. My table is set for you. I am heartsick for you.
For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror;
then we shall see face to face.
Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known
And now these two remain
The hallway where Newt stands is a watercolor of bleeding pastels, pale wood, fluorescence. You seem anxious, the kids comment, unusually articulate right now. We can fix that. So strange you call it the Pacific, your wildest, widest sea.
I would like to go to the beach. I want to go. Please go with me and our friends will be there too. If I am to make beautiful aspirations, perhaps I'll wear shorts. I am tired of this body of mine taking joy from me.
There are moments when the body is as numinous as words, days that are the good flesh continuing.
Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings,saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.
No burning bush, no angels, no cross. God's a house. Which is not to say that our house is God's house or even a house of God. What I mean to say is that our house is God.