“The morning heat had already soaked through the walls, rising up from the floor like a ghost of summers past.”

“Oh, lady bright! can it be right-The window open to the night?The wanton airs, from the tree-top,Laughingly through the lattice drop -The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,Flit through thy chamber in and out,And wave the curtain canopySo fitfully - so fearfully -Above the closed and fringéd lid'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,That, o'er the floor and down the wall,Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?”

“Above us our palace waits, the only one I've ever needed. Its walls are space, its floor is sky, its center everywhere. We rise; the shapes cluster around us in welcome, dissolving and forming again like fireflies in a summer evening.”

“Gravity disappears again, and we rise up off the floor like spooks from a grave. It's like the Rapture in here every thirty seconds.”

“..numbed by disappointment and betrayal, like a child who had been awakened suddenly from a summer dream about christmas morning.”

“There is dewon these poems in the morning,and at night a cool breeze may rise from them.In the winter they are blankets, in the summer a place to swim.I like talking to you like this. Have you moveda step closer?Soon we may bekissing.”