“Remind me that the most fertile lands were built by the fires of volcanoes.”

“Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling likethey're falling in love with the ground.”

“That night when you kissed me, I left a poem in your mouth, and you can hear some of the lines every time you breathe out.”

“For JennAt 12 years old I started bleeding with the moonand beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts.I fought with my knuckles white as stars,and left bruises the shape of Salem.There are...”

“...Its hard to watchthe game we make of love,like everyones playing checkerswith their scars,saying checkmatewhenever they get outwithout a broken heart.Just to be clearI dont want to get outwithou...”

“..when a war ends, what does that look like exactly?do the cells in the body stop detonating themselves?does the orphanage stop screaming for its mother?when the sand in the desert has been melted ...”

“Let me also say I wanna make you sandwhiches,And soup,And peanut butter cookies,Though, the truth is peanutbutter is actually really bad for you 'cause they grow peanuts in old cotton fields to cle...”

“The trauma said, Dont write these poems.Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.”

“I wrote too many poems in a language I did not yet know how to speak.”

“Only once in your life, I truly believe, you find someone who can completely turn your world around. You tell them things that youve never shared with another soul and they absorb everything you sa...”

“As he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there i...”

“Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.No soldier's paid to kick against His powers.We laughed, knowing that better men would come,And greater wars: whe...”

“I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests.”

“It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.”