“Petey," I whisper, his ear maybe an inch away from my mouth. "It...it feels like...wicked like...home when I'm with you. Home”

“There comes a time you discover things, step out into Life, Danny. You know? Step away and b-become yourself? You can't bring anyone else to those m-moments. Then after a while, you spend a big part of the r-r-rest of your life trying to find someone to discover what you've become. Where you've gone now. Someone to help you understand all you've b-become and vice-versa.”

“So Ame stayed home like a good girl, and I snuck out like a bad one. I already longed for a good book and my quilt.”

“I like people, kind of. I even like boys, mostly. But I was beginning to feel like that stewardess who smiles at you when you get off the plane. Behind the smile you know she really wishes she could trip someone.”

“But the burning man falling from the sky pulled me from my faraway world. My gaze wandered to the window an instant before he appeared. And then, slowly, like a feather caught on a light breeze, he willowed past my window, turning his grotesque head towards me, his mouth open in a silent scream. He was more than on fire. He was fire.Orange and red flames braided together in the shape of a man, but it was his eyes that caused me to suck in my breath and hold it as I ran to the window. His eyes, scared and imploring, told of a darkness and agony I couldn't begin to understand.”

“I went home that day, and I wrote your name over and over on a piece of paper. I must have written it a hundred times. My mom found the paper a few days later in my sock drawer. She wanted to know why I'd done that..."I wanted to know why more than anything I'd ever remembered wanting, but a part of me hoped he'd chicken out."I told her I liked the way your name made my heart jump.”

“We'd all like to see our poems walking alone in the world. Like children reared to be independent adults. Some parents raise a child conservatively (that is, with no exposure to the darker things awaiting them beyond the door), but you can see how that's a mistake right? There's no way to know how best to prepare a child for the future. No way to know how to write a publishable poem -- I'm not saying safe poems don't get published. Or that sheltered children can't succeed. Just that you write the best poems you can and send them out. Sometimes they return home weeping. Sometimes they make their own way.”