“in my dreams / I am touching the faces of my friends, we are / each one of us touching” — Safia Elhillo
"Goldenrod, is your dying hard? I know, / I know dying's hard. Are you reaching toward, you know, or just reaching?"
"It’s hard up there. You dig in a box for whatever the moment requires: sweater, wreath, the other half of the walky-talky, and find twelve things you forgot about
"Whatever direction you turned toward was face to face. / No back of the world existed, / No unseen corner, no test. No other earth to prepare for."