A Body Without Bones Would Be A

Light Is Snow Sifted / To An Abstraction.

For Any Writer Who Wants To Keep A Journal, Be Alive To Everything, Not Just To What You're Feeling, But Also To Your Pets, To Flowers, To What You're Reading.

For Art Is Order, But It Is Born Out Of The Chaos Of Life.

Human Relations Just Are Not Fixed In Their Orbits Like The Planets -- They're More Like Galaxies, Changing All The Time, Exploding Into Light For Years, Then Dying Away.

Inside My Mother's Death / I Lay And Could Not Breathe.