“Words. Borne on the ever swelling current of hatred, like flowers opening in the current, petals peeling back, then falling apart.”
“Love. The wide sea that one word conjures up, all the currents and tides and storms and oily swells of it.”
“But who is ever able to apply to her own current love affair a word like "similar"?”
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
“You are a cosmic flower. Om chanting is the process of opening the psychic petals of that flower.”
“Words in a poem are like petals on a flower, only together, in the right position, at the right time are they seen as they should be.”