“Empty hands held highsuch a small sacrificeif not joined with my life, i sing in vain tonightmay the words i say, and the things i domake my lifesong sing to youLet my lifesong sing to you...”

“I only sing in the shower. I would join a choir, but I don’t think my bathtub can hold that many people.
”

“From my spirit's gray defeat, From my pulse's flagging beat, From my hopes that turned to sand Sifting through my close-clenched hand, From my own fault's slavery, If I can sing, I still am free.For with my singing I can make A refuge for my spirit's sake, A house of shining words, to be My fragile immortality.”

“I sing, not to hear the echo repeat, a shade fainter, my song! I think of light and not of glory! Singing is my fashion of waging war and bearing witness. And if my song is the proudest of songs, it is that I sing clearly to make the day rise clear!”

“And after, when it was bedtime, I would sing, “We love you, Conrad, oh yes we do. We love you, Conrad, and we’ll be true” into the bathroom mirror with a mouthful of toothpaste. I would sing my eight-nine-ten-year-old heart out. But I wasn’t singing to Conrad Birdie. I was singing to my Conrad. Conrad Beck Fisher, the boy of my preteen dreams.”

“I sing your restless longing for the statue,your fear of the feelings that await you in the street.I sing the small sea siren who sings to you,riding her bicycle of corals and conches.But above all I sing a common thoughtthat joins us in the dark and golden hours.The light that blinds our eyes is not art.Rather it is love, friendship, crossed swords.”