“Days grow hotter and life grows shorter.Time is somehow running out.She flips her pillowso she won't have to sleep on her tears.”

“Some things don't pass, the injuries don't heal they merely find a place in our guts and in our bones where they fitfully rest, tossing and turning between our knuckles and ribs waiting to wake as the shadows grow long.”

“She would say 'Bucket moon'he would answer 'Ladle moon.'Night after night sky revealed abitten moon, a butcher's moon,an apple moon, a thief's moon,a rabbit---'Rabbit moon?''Don't you see it?''I used to chase rabbits,' she had said,her voice sweet and tired.”

“The bullet we're running from is almost never the one that hits us.”

“And were you cornered by her,eye to eye,you would see thatthere are still some watchful creatureswhose essence lies unbound by words.There is still a wilderness.”

“Blood, fat, marrow, grease, sinew, muscle, guts, hide, fur, sleepThey may twitch in their dreams when they sleepbut they sleep deep”

“Everyone is always looking in the wrong direction,we worry about our lovers while losing our jobswe stress out about cancer while our children run awaywe ponder the stars while burning the earth.Lark used to say the buller we're running fromis almost never the one that hits us.”