“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.”

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

“Each dog marks a section of our lives, and in the end, we feed them to the dark, burying them there while we carry on.”

“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.”

“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.”

“As she stared at the ceiling that first nighther body softly falling back into itself,she thought of how we dream of journeyingon spaceships to other universes, other worlds,but really, for the forever,we're stuck here on the dirt andthe only time we will travel anywhere truly unknowableis when we slip into the skin of another,venturing into their mysteries,always hoping fora safe landing.”

“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.”