Friday, November 27, 2009


Nothing to be done except the saying Yes to
the definitions -- those handed to me and
those I make up for myself.

These defining patterns are the perimeters,
the map, the borders, the box, the area I
navigate, function, live. Some of it is
chosen, some not.

But this is home -- conscious and

These trees are my trees. These streets are
my streets. These people are my people.

The studio apartment in which I bathe and
cook and write and sleep; this man I love --
whom I have chosen and who chose me;
and the something bigger who chose us

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