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This is the kind of night on which Yuan Chen cried out to his dead wife: when one dreams of another, are both aware of it? the moonlight blackening his bed, the ice roaring in the great northern rivers of Honan. From such a night, to such discoverable likeness, Adam himself awoke, knowing none of…

She’s heard that apples go silver in moonlight, That the lavender cloud Of phlox along the wall Is absorbed by rocks, and that even The steady, village church is eaten away On a night like this. They told her when the moon shines Through a stained-glass window, there are no Reds or blues crossing the…

The silence of the Bionassay with its uneven glitter, blue-gray knife sculpting the mountain as when I whittle at distances so that they meet the eye, at light, a possibility towards which a single leaf unfolds. Beyond the timberline where silence enters the skin and jangles the small nerves of the teeth, the mountain glistens…

What sings the holy language of meaningless music? Maybe some kind of a bird, I think. What knits the invisible patterns that fasten the sky? I think maybe some kind of bird. What circles above the dying? I think a bird of some kind. What darkens everything in the shadow of a wing? Some kind…

How deep is frost?      I dig six inches deeper. That is deep enough. Why do you live in this fenced-in garden?      I am the lord of the garden, the retainer of the gardener      who makes his plans and mends his fences. What can’t      get out is his business. Have you no friends?      I emulate my…

1 You need the woman wearing blue to remind you of the future. Her body has the shape of it. You need the movement of a wrist turning in its sleeve capable unlocking air. The bone, the tool turning under the skin unlocking the skin. The bone, a mineral of light unlocking and you remember…

     Smash! All of us looked up from our roast lamb and new potatoes. Grandmother had dropped a plate. Or rather, as those of us who hadn’t been poking about in the watery creamed spinach had noticed, she had hurled her plate to the floor. Or rather, as a moment’s reflection taught us, she had in…

Children, she said, you are my children. What I mean to say is I’m going off in the woods to be alone. I want you to understand I’ve got to get away to think and touch my body with my own hands when I’m alone with no threats. You are my children and I was…

My vigils are unnecessary: you seldom stir. I am lucky to have such a child. Asleep, your breath is moist and carefully I undress you. Your flesh is precious, my only wealth. I caress you with the awe of a disciple. Your nakedness shines in the dark. Son— I am afraid of you. Growing bigger…