End of October, days recede quickly into night. Leaves fall in slow motion.
The almanac tells them when the moon passes into ghost weather.
There was no sense in brushing off or any other civilized thing.
For my vacation last summer, I visited the Bateer family in Xiwuqi.
It’s so delicate, the light. And there’s so little of it. The dark is huge.
My grandfather committed my grandmother to a mental asylum.
We caress the rough. Sensuous, delectable, and yet sorrowful.
I want to focus on bears. On knowing them, and on what they need.
Passions played among the orchids and through cherish and reveal.
The hawk moves out of the way to let a little hot package of breath rise up.
The survival of our world depends upon the cultivation of better language.
I want to remember us this way—sun streaming through the window.
All over the planet people try to end pain: striptease, bee stings.
I grabbed him by the face and told him life only comes to a person once.
She favoured me with an even more viciously scornful “Don’t care!”
How much simpler and more satisfying was the company of men.
My bike, my skinny body, my pent breath was thrown to the grass.
After breakfast I set out to see what my wild neighbors have been up to.
Since I am in my seventies, it is now or never, and I know it.
All night the insects’ grinding jaws chewed through the darkness.
They taught us do not touch it, but who can keep from touching it?
We’ve seen the news. We know the story. How even our bodies hurt us.
This is the day when the saints all go silently to church in France.
He longed only for Claire’s strange seriousness, her silent focus.
Desperately, children: I am in desperate need for desperate need.
Karen was, in that moment, nothing, emptiness. She was oblivion.
We have harvested nothing more than the stench of middle age.
For sixty or maybe seventy years this sidewalk has been lying here.
I want to cut loose from her each wistful sigh I hear escape her lips.
It’s another thing to have the beloved hesitate, silent, on the porch.