He Reminded Me Of Someone Who Put

Purification In Fire. Public Cremation

My Father Was An Engineer - He Wasn't Literary, Not A Writer Or A Journalist, But He Was One Of The World's Great Readers. Every Two Weeks, He'd Take Me To Our Local Branch Library And Pull Books Off The Shelf For Me, Stacking Them Up In My Arms - 'have You Read This? And This? And This?"

She’s Not As Pretty As You,” I Said “but She’s A Simpler Girl,” My Mother Whispered.

Once You Get Below The Floor Of Our Personal Identities, We're All Connected. Perhaps That's Why We Can Move Into Others' Lives.

Echo, The Death Of A Sound That Had Nowhere To Go But To Come Back.