Quotes About Connection

Here it is: the new way of living with the world inside of us so we cannot lose it, and we cannot be lost.

I swear, I'll try harder not to miss as much: the tree, or how your fingers under still sleep-stunned sheets coaxed all my colors back.

Here is my sacrifice: my hummingbird landing in a stranger's palm.

Caring for each other is a form of radical survival that we don't always take into account.

dearest, can you tell, I am trying to love you less.

Say we spend our last moments staring at each other, hands knotted together, clutching the dog, watching the sky burn. Say, It doesn't matter. Say, That would be enough. Say you'd still want this: us alive, right here, feeling lucky.

My mother's psychic says, everyone essentially wants the same thing as everyone else, a sense of belonging, a coming home.

Here it is: the new way of living with the world inside of us so we cannot lose it, and we cannot be lost. You and me are us and then, and it and sky.

someone I could hold up to my ear and hear the ocean, something I could say my name into, and have it returned in the inky waves.

You say you love the world, so love the world.

I am in no hurry to stop believing we are supposed to sway like this, that we too are immense and calling out.

It is what we do in order to care for things, make them ourselves, our elders, our beloveds, our unborn. But perhaps that is a lazy kind of love. Why can't I just love the flower for being a flower? How many flowers have I yanked to puppet as if it was easy for the world to make flowers?

What is it about noticing beauty that brings you out of yourself and returns you to yourself?

A horse gives way to another horse and then suddenly there are two horses, just like that. That's how I loved you.

It turns out poetry does, in fact, do the thing I want it to do… it helps me return to the world, to experience it, to pay attention.

crossed-legged with my friend named Echo who taught me how to amplify the strange sound the frogs made by cupping my ears. I need to hold this close within me, when today's news is full of dead children, their faces opening their mouths for air that will not come. Once I was a child too and my friend and I sat for maybe an hour, eyes adjusting to the night sky, cupping and uncapping our ears to hear the song the tenderest animals made.

there was a gentleness to this, a long opening that seemed to join us in the saddest hour.

I once had a record of whale sounds, I swear I understood.

We all tip our lonely hats in one un-lonely sound.

If I'd a handmade, fanned out, feathered set, me? I'd choose the moon, always the sister moon.

People love to make big pronouncements about poetry saving us. And I want to believe that, but for now, what I can say is … poetry can make us feel. And right now, maybe that's enough. It doesn't have to bring us hope or joy, it just has to remind us that we feel. That we are alive, and here, and feeling the world.

It means, if you're alone, when love is all around, We all tip our lonely hats in one un-lonely sound.

It means, if you're alone, when love is all around, We all tip our lonely hates in one un-lonely sound.

It is what we do in order to care for things, make them ourselves, our elders, our beloveds, our unborn. But perhaps that is a lazy kind of love. Why can't I just love the flowers for being a flower? How many flowers have I yanked to puppet as if it was easy for the world to make flowers?