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A Country Doctor

A gravely ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant.

A Dagger of Sunlight Lies across His Bed

He sits hiked up, naked to the waist, like a stone in the bedclothes.

A Few Delicate Needles

It’s so delicate, the light. And there’s so little of it. The dark is huge.

A New Year’s Gift

He ended every year in this manner, writing and dreaming.

A Sleigh Ride

Some inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be decided.

A Taste for Winter

She is very rich. She will leave me everything when she dies, he says.

A Winter Walk

After breakfast I set out to see what my wild neighbors have been up to.

Accumulation

When he was a child, my father had a cousin who was buried by a plow.

Addendum and Other Poems

The animals are dying. All the beautiful women are dying too.

Air and Space

You walk and the world bends toward you like leaves waiting for rain.

All-American Biography

Snows piling in his crying mouth. Cold gave him a light complexion.

Aubade

When I dream of lovers, I rarely see faces. It’s better if we never touch.

Bald Eagle

Your image is on my credit card, you and the old red, white, and blue.

Boston Common at Twilight

Nobody knows where I am, Ned thought. No one in the whole world.

Bruegel-Hunters in the Snow and Other Poems

I fell asleep wondering to whom the tree might have been writing.

Burn

I opened my pocketknife, grabbed his hair in a fistful, and cut.

Certain Friends for Certain Secrets

It was like a scene in a movie; it didn’t seem real. The man kicked her.

Choteau

People only see that side of him. He is still a boy, learning to be a man.

Colorado Road Trip

Eszter Marosszeky and David Matheson

December 24, 1971

Floods of faces, no sign of a pathway toward Bethlehem, shut off by blizzard.

December Morning

Frail as a breath, it broke at once, leaving a tiny kiss in my fingers.

December Was Inconsolable and It Hadn’t Even Arrived Yet

It’s been months since the cat died and still we find her hair.

Dublin Christmas

The streets were filled with couples and families on their way home.

Easter

They say it is the soul that rises, not the body. But the body does rise—

Elegy in Which I Sleep Restfully

Anne Marie Rooney

Elegy Written in Dust Kicked Up along a Back Road

He took off his clothes and left them on the living room floor.

February

The light, returning, nudged me from sleep, and walked me to dinner.

Food for the Common Cold

“I wonder what will stay longer,” Frick said. “Me or that headstone.”

For the Love of the Game

Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.

From The Victor Poems

It was only a matter of time before the damp of loss grew within us like moss.

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