We’re warned

about the dangers

of the world —

the heat of fire,

the power of water,

the shifting weight of the wind —

but the world

has never,


wounded me

like the dangers

in my heart.

Firestone Friday: Poem XXIII

None of us

thinks “I am evil,”


the world

is full

of the stuff.

Firestone Friday: Poem XXII

I see you in every mountain, valley, and assembly of water. I feel you in every breeze, raindrop, and patch of sunlight. I hear you in the voices of others, in the tolling bell, and in the neighbor’s music. I smell you in the chain restaurants, the budding flowers, and the decayed leaves. I taste you in my morning coffee, in my hot tea, and in my straight whiskey. Even at the loss of my senses, I could not escape the world in my mind that is crafted in your matter. There is nothing without or within me that occurs to me before going through you, first.

Firestone Friday: Poem XIX

But how

many times

will we

create people

in a moment

of love

to live

in a world

of hate?

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