““I am sorry my words sometimes frighten the fireflies from your dreams, I am sorry that battalions of doubt have pitched camp in your heart. It would be crazy to love you as much as I do. It is 3:03 and by now the whole universe is attracted to you so that I feel gobbled up like the ice in a comet. I am sorry the time is passing so slowly. I am sorry, birds, for not mentioning you again until the end. My fifth grade teacher said comets are angels. You can determine the exact makeup of a comet by spectrographic analysis. An X ray of this poem would reveal dark spots on its heart. It would reveal the smallest memories— my hand resting so gently on your hip that it requires great effort just to stay on this earth, how your legs seem to become part of your bicycle and you seem to fly into a world that lies beside this one.””