Thinking Lessons

No one is one.

No one is no one.

Is writing an act of listening?

Or is to listen merely to passively search another for a portal to oneself?

But portal lets anything through—and nothing stays.

I love what’s sublime—beauty greater than my sense of beauty.

Red is the color of surfacing, from the inside, eyes closed.

My child does not belong to me. She belongs to herself. But she’s too young to have a child!

What is a new way to learn? Could I ever answer and still keep my question?

What are the most important questions, other than this one?