These cords that God makes, Reverend Bauxite thought, we stand holding one end while they run taut into the darkness.

Do you see? The story I have to tell is so small, of the people who stayed when everyone else fled.

There are no words for so much loss, not right after it happens.

He tans into burning while the opening fanfare to “Peaches en Regalia” flows over him, the bugle call for a hippie army that marched at the peak of the American parabola, that moment when physics...

His voice, what he said, remains, and it is here, all of those voices are here, in what I am telling you. If in the beginning there was the word, then perhaps, with humility at...

There must be something better than this world, and the world must be better than this.