I Wonder How Many Ways There Are

He Says When Your Grandmother Died Your Mother Cried Solidly For A Week, Solidly. She Was Crying With Relief He Says, It Was Like As If A Door Had Been Unlocked And She'd Been Let Outside, She Said To Me I'm Safe Now. He Waits, And He Says This Kid, When It's Born, You Mustn't Ever Let It Think It's Anything Other Than A Gift And A Blessing, Do You Hear Me?

I Say Too Much Of What, He Says Too Much Of Everything, Too Much Stuff, Too Many Places, Too Much Information, Too Many People, Too Much Of Things For There To Be Too Much Of, There Is Too Much To Know And I Don't Know Where To Begin But I Want To Try.

Now That I've Had A Book Published, It Is Quite Validating, But A Bit Embarrassing.

The Whole City Stopped - And This Is A Pause Worth Savouring, Because The World Will Soon Be Complicated Again.

If You Listen, You Can Hear It. The City, It Sings. If You Stand Quietly, At The Foot Of A Garden, In The Middle Of The Street, On The Roof Of A House. It's Clearest At Night, When The Sound Cuts More Sharply Across The Surface Of Things, When The Song Reaches Out To A Place Inside You. It's A Wordless Song, For The Most, But It's A Song All The Same, And Nobody Hearing It Could Doubt What It Sings. And The Song Sings The Loudest When You Pick Out Each Note.