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This was his sky, his clouds rucked up over the fields. His country.

“You’re going somewhere now,” he said. “Up to the big smoke.”

It was our flesh with its deadly sweetness that led them on.

Her mother always complained Sara was different after a night at Judy’s.

I was a son again until my parents died. Even then, I felt like myself.

Perhaps the only way to see a whole body is to see one coming out of you.

Instead, she stares right at us, her shoulder half-naked in broad daylight.

You are home in your bed like a soft animal with really intense feelers.

These days, I am less of an irony detector and more of a lyrical drone.

The world beyond the windows slowly tips forward into spring.

The year we left the reservation a white boy gave me a trash bag.

The story of Wing Biddlebaum’s hands is worth a book in itself.

Your life is your own and then suddenly it belongs to someone else.

Mom could have been an acre away, or doe-still behind the next stalk.

I’ve got other plans. And they don’t center on ringnecks.

Havana, Cuba, on the inevitable cusp of change. A photo gallery.

Children were driven by deep yearnings that should be satisfied.

His chest was sweaty and his T-shirt stuck to it, bleeding black.

The world is a riddle of shape and texture, from sight to smell to sound.

I want to step out into sun to scintillate for waves to come and spray.

The problem, as it turned out, is: Forever can be surprisingly short.

I remember the sun on the mountain like a trembling drop of lava. When the lasso dancers were done, they kicked away like wild colts.

“Well, it’s a dark world, Suzanne. She’s old enough to know that.”

When nobody knows where you are, you get to talk however you want.

That piece of flesh you’re with is a high school student, a minor.

The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen has become the saddest.

Jack picked me up in a car with a greasy-potato sex smell.

They found her where such girls are found. A Manhattan street.