"I believed stories grew like grass--beautiful, dark and powerful, the way nature is.  They(my parents) put me to bed one summer, the result of a fast-beating heart(punishment for too much lust and feeding).  I will stare at a single branch for all of May.  A quiet so deep you can hear your own heartbeat.  Or does nothing make its sound of its emptiness and peace.  Night in the middle of your chest.  In the bright shinning thicket, at least turn me over so I can see the sky."