Pressure cranks and presses Life, squeezing out essence of self, aromatic with bittersweet memories, pungent adversities, and the honey-musk of desire — the vapors hover over our inkpots, and if we pick up the feather it becomes our poetry. – Terri Guillemets
A wolf howls his soul into the misty night. The moon answers with glowing silence. – Terri Guillemets

