Reading A Poem In Translation Is Like

Even As A Child, Even As My Blood-past Was Drained From Me, I Understood That If I Were Strong Enough To Accept It, I Was Being Offered A Second History.

To Share A Hiding Place, Physical Or Psychological, Is As Intimate As Love.

I'm Naive Enough To Think That Love Is Always Good No Matter How Long Ago, No Matter The Circumstances.

Some Stones Are So Heavy Only Silence Helps You Carry Them!

The Shadow-past Is Shaped By Everything That Never Happened. Invisible, It Melts The Present Like Rain Through Karst. A Biography Of Longing. It Steers Us Like Magnetism, A Spirit Torque. This Is How One Becomes Undone By A Smell, A Word, A Place, The Photo Of A Mountain Of Shoes. By Love That Closes Its Mouth Before Calling A Name.