"I hope they don’t see what I see — a broken piece of pottery molded by my shaking hands..."

"Hearing a car coming down the street And rushing to the window, my heart pounding To no one"

A coal, full of small suns, shimmering on the dim verge of a dream dreamt in the ink of the night

My hand reaches for a mirror and touches glass. Or maybe flesh.

It doesn’t take much to make a beautiful thing disappear— only heat and time.

Even so, I’ll still dream of you tonight.