And life is in my hands, suckling at my breast, thrives on the rhythm of my beating heart, warmth of my… — Ana Castillo

The road in either direction

is neither longer nor shorter,

nor more narrow nor wider

than the fear that closes your heart.

paintings

and books conceal more than they ever tell.

As if we should not be scandalized

by surprise bombing over any city at night,

bombs scandalizing the sanctity of night.