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Jayne Anne Phillips recalls her friend, the legendary Sam Lawrence.

Sam was like family. He was the angel of my writing life in every word.

I was the man in her life. I know I’m different now. Now I’m a bird.

I taste on my tongue a gunshot of synapses warm and light like butter

I never left my wife, and she never left me, but this isn’t exactly true.

I didn’t know that by falling for you, I was falling for your demons too.

There’s something about traveling by plane. People tell their secrets.

they released themselves so knowingly into the soft wet air

Takis brought down the demons that would pursue him the rest of his life.

There’s no studying for this. I think souls must exist in wanted things.

I want to bring the duality of us together, not spar with language.

They give me a pitying look, as if I am alone, and they are invincible.

He drew on time, and space, he drew on his powers, and their sleep.

I never prayed before. Since this happened I’ve been praying every night.

No one in Lagos slouches. Bravado pulsates through the room.

I made him love me. To feel abandonment—again.

No woman he’d ever been with responded so unmistakably.

Whatever was wrong with his brain, he could still smell her skin.

You know that sex isn’t everything. It’s time to get a move on.

My sister says, vicious as possible, “Don’t you dare try to protect me.”

She has beautiful cheekbones, but her eyes are nearly colorless.

The city is lit with all its lights. I’m up in the air. It is yes until I die.

Napoleon, who can say you don’t deserve my allegiance?

“I have a sneaking suspicion that we’re the same person,” she says.

He spoke of the river’s origins as though telling of the birth of a god.

Your voice on the phone, a gesundt in dein keppel you blessed my head.

At fifty, a new love feels like a particular kind of hopelessness.

I slide my heart inside a folded sheet of paper and tape down the opening.

You’re safe here. A prison might be the safest place to meet a man.