Every Tree, Every Growing Thing As It

Truth Lifts The Heart, Like Water Refreshes Thirst.

The Ripe Fignow That You Live Here In My Chest,anywhere We Sit Is A Mountaintop.and Those Other Images,which Have Enchanted Peoplelike Porcelain Dolls From China,which Have Made Men And Women Weepfor Centuries, Even Those Have Changed Now.what Used To Be Pain Is A Lovely Benchwhere We Can Rest Under The Roses.a Left Hand Has Become A Right.a Dark Wall, A Window.a Cushion In A Shoe Heel,the Leader Of The Community!now Silence. What We Sayis Poison To Someand Nourishing To Others.what We Say Is A Ripe Fig,but Not Every Bird That Flieseats Figs.

The Light Which Shines In The Eye Is Really The Light Of The Heart.

In Love’s Country, Language Doesn’t Have Its Place. Love Is Mute.

The Soul Is A Stranger Trying To Find A Home Somewhere That Is Not A Where.