Whoever is truly cast in pure love needs no heaven, let heaven go. The body blossoms forth into a frightful silence, walls and chairs awaken. Parts of things were once human members, too. My love, your warm pressure on my temples hurts so much. It pushes me into a sacred circle, immuring, then expanding. Its…
My feet were finally starting to get warm, so I knew that it would be time to get out soon. It always happened: as soon as the car heated up enough that you could no longer see your breath, it was time to get out. I looked up at the stone, hardwood and glass structure…
Despite the trouble, I decide to see them right away— these lights, perhaps they are someone's eyes. For my part this spade has proved more useful than an instinct—I had no idea I was going to crawl from such a small space. Whoever wants butter and eggs and soy and corn, a radish, a tomato,…
The truck skidding, myself running, getting nowhere, still hanging onto some foolish piece of laundry, a flowered pillowcase. The truck skidding silently into the tree. My body opening to a big empty scream, Molly. The scream turning to glass, nothing in it, no child. I went back to work, a week or so later, after…
I went to the island that summer, at Webb's invitation, because he and the island were foreign to me, mysterious, not in dark or cunning ways, but with brilliance and light. The beach and his hair gleamed with gold, his eyes and the sea flecked fathomless blue, and the sun and his smile dizzied me…
She wondered how to make the new faithful to the original. Everything seemed so much itself, and already something else. Life became thicker and thicker over time. My fidelities to her and to the whole place became extremities of the same god. While she heard voices I was swooning, there was this seduction by the…
for Hayden Carruth When I was a child, there was an old man with a ruined horse who drove his wagon through the back streets of our neighborhood crying, Iron . . . iron. Meaning he would buy bedsprings and dead stoves. Now it seems a blazon for the primitive Pittsburgh of rusted metal and…
Sunlight glimmered on the grass, glinted off the black tombstones ahead of Mrs. Kawaguchi. The cemetery grounds had been newly mowed for the Memorial Day weekend and were damp from yesterday's rain: her heels sank deeply into the earth. Wisps of grass clung to her shoes and she could feel the moisture seep into the…
The long-distance connections fade and rectify like wind tracking the filaments of wire through the echo of the tunnel, the emptiness and silence pushed on up ahead of the great green toy trains rattling and grinding to their stops, so that the notes have to rise even higher, toward ignition, as electric as the switches,…
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