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Because I am lonely, I am always shying away from the mirror.

They’re shrieking down Little Round Top, receiving the good girls’ glares.

He hit all of us sometimes, but he hit me hardest and the most.

What you seek has eluded you. Yet you stay on. You take comfort in the music.

We roasted mastodons. Designed skewers, ovens, steampits.

You’d probably prefer to sneak back into me very still, swollen.

I’m alive, Sarah thinks, the slam of his look going all the way in.

By the kitchen sink, my aunt held a fish as if holding the Holy Body.

The dugout boats kissing the shoreline have ferried us into open markets. Girl, you call me in time, where this too can be forgotten. The hands that made them asking for more things in dim light.

Everything hung in perfect balance. Light and dark, heaven and hell.

Exhausted, androgynous, delirious, I delight in my many parts.

I drag my sheets as Earth drags her tangled mess of tides.

Time is a hearse and horse, a carrot and stick, a window and widow.

In hushed awe they talk of things to come, a golden time of flowering.

He loves me. That’s half enough: he’s the only man around.

There was only the gulf of our steps, our breathing brittle as string.

The pupils are toothpicks. The lake is a sky with a circle beneath.

If every present
is possible, how can we have eyes to see?

Elsewhere, perhaps here too, regimes stagger, a congress ends.

I slipped one sparrow black and shivering into my mouth.

i was a wild thing down by the river, quiet like wild things are.

Maybe he was preparing for a disaster that would never happen.

he has come to write like nervous wasps in my mind like a grocery list.

When he bent close to her, his balaclava glowed silvery in the dying sunlight.

I must tell you what it is like to be human, or you will drift away.

I let you pull my hair, throw me to the rocks, disarrange me.

Lunatics call it annihilation . . . Think of it as not doing a thing

I build our life together as I want it to be.

I am veins and breath, the entrance the world passes through.

There’s nowhere he can kiss where she hasn’t been kissed by the sun.