Heaped sweets and a treasure
For a new sin to play with,
This is not love: we cannot call it love.
Love would make me aware of infinite things,
And through the narrow fastnesses of pain.
You are not she I loved. You cannot be
You cold woman, you stranger with her ways,
Smiling cruelly,
I cannot find music
On the tongues of men and women
Unless I hear their voices
Like echoes, silence-softened.
Their many words mean little.
Their mouths are blatant sparrows. GIDLOW
In the thin green moonlight.
Postcommodity: Some Reach While Others Clap
a place with war in its skyline; at its center sits a garden
IN A DREAM YOU CLIMB THE STAIRS
Here—said the Year—
DEAR GOD. DEAR BONES. DEAR YELLOW.
fire danger high today
False eyelash stuck to the side of the windowsill like a prayer.
You know I thought this last night, perhaps in the shower
As usual, Death sweetly slips her arm in mine—
THANK YOU WORLD, YOU NOW LOOK A LITTLE BIT LIKE A WONDERLAND
(WHERE YOU LOVE ME BEGINS THE FOREST)
A FRIEND FROM THE DISTANT
FLEA MARKET