Status Updates From Selected Prose and Prose-Po...

Her skin,which has no seashell pink in it, is the color of wheat richly kissed by the sun.

Doesn’t it matter to you, the afternoon that is losing its leaves outside like a rosebush aflame, with such placid beauty?

Each morning when you open your shutters, feel the white dawn rising over the mountains as a marvelous bandage, already prepared against the hardships of the day...

‘‘We are all vessels,’’ the potter told me, and when I smiled, he added: ‘‘You are an emptied vessel. A great love toppled you and now you will not be filled again.

The glass of our windows, where night rests its hands like a great ivy, so that it can to be seen and so that we don’t completely forget it.

The sea again, the singing, eternally new sea, its great light in my eye once more, and its gift of forgetfulness.

Wow. This is a mystical experience.