By the time I looked over my shoulder, the sun had already fallen.
The horse had been beaten and flies crawled on the beat marks.
The almanac tells them when the moon passes into ghost weather.
Certainly the ushers who pass the baskets know me as a miser.
The preacher looked me in the eye. He laid his hand on my chest.
I want to focus on bears. On knowing them, and on what they need.
I can see on him how things are changing for and against us.
She did not leave him for the sailor. So why should he be angry?
All over the planet people try to end pain: striptease, bee stings.
How much simpler and more satisfying was the company of men.
The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.
On my way to the airport I hit a Christian. This was in Arkansas.
The stones here carry the island’s low cry inside them. A landlocked grief.
All night the insects’ grinding jaws chewed through the darkness.
He tuned the future backward as he left the ringing water to reclaim me.
He said he had come back to the prison because it was home.
So, Ida, are you a Jew or a nudist? Do you believe in Hanukkah?
This is the day when the saints all go silently to church in France.
Devanand Simon was twenty-five when the bodies fell from the sky.
She countered the reverence of his efforts stroke by stroke, tit for tat.
Karen was, in that moment, nothing, emptiness. She was oblivion.
I recoil from the certitude that religion can give a person; it’s horrific.
Many times I’ve stood at the lip of this river and wanted to crawl in.
We are like a village here, separated from the rest of the world.
It’s another thing to have the beloved hesitate, silent, on the porch.
I didn’t trust her. Relationships like ours aren’t built on trust.
He is not a man, but an empty shell, a creature who laughs to stop the shame.
I hadn’t always liked being around my mother while she was alive.
Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.
Am I here without me just as I was before when stars spoke.