When the dreams come,
early morning
and reckless,

they are a breeze
moving leaves
across my porch. 

...

The universe
clears its throat, 

and I am flung ashore
on some familiar, strange beach.

...

It is true that the past is still with us,
but it is more true that it is gone, 

Or, always leaving.
Like a faucet dripping,
all night. 

...

We must answer these questions
that the silence brings up,

We must put ourselves back together
with the imperfect tools
already in our hands.

...

No one is coming to save us.

They have already come
and they are still here.

You,
Are still here.

...

You must believe in what is coming
more than what has come before,

You must believe you are becoming,
becoming something more.

You must understand you are a portal,
not just a swinging door.

...

You must say Yes
again and again
until you are singing
with a defiant insistence 
that sounds like nothing else
so much as
yourself.