I. My father believed this was the worst of all possible worlds: he yearned for Australia. This was what he saw: land. That was all. Why he didn't pine for Colorado or Guam I'll never understand. I know nothing of his life except for the details: married at nineteen, left college a year later. He…
Amid our many complaints the president heads a new world order beginning to broadcast. Her skin is never my skin. It is where we cross over to whatever is in store. Her dream is anchored to the pilings, sequences of a goddess talking softly to her boat for a long time. In my…
It is always among sleepers we walk. We walk in their dreams. None of us Knows what he is as he walks In the dream of another. Tell me my name. Your tongue is blurred, honeyed with error. Your sleep's truth murmurs its secret. Tell me your name. Out at the edge, Out in the…
These fish are older than I. Every morning I learn from the koi how to swim in the wind- ruffled pond: the flow of the tail, the fan of the fins in water, eyes open all ways to the shadow-life moving beyond us. Who knows what goes on under the bridge, the plank where I…
1. Life Style Invincible begetters, assorted Scruffses have always lived hereabouts in the woods trapping beaver or fox, poaching enough deer to get by on. Winters, they barricade their groundsills with spoiled hay, which can ignite from a careless cigarette or chimney spark. In the Fifties, one family barely got out when the place lit…
It takes a needle to complete the job— pick the two choked eyes empty of the thread, pick out the particles of sweater wool. It takes a dark, thin book to tray the pickings (they're hard to gather off her skirt, the floor) and chute them in the trash can; takes her tea-tin container for…
At your feet, I am a shoemaker’s apprentice, Toxic in a long day of fumes. I’m listening To the fluorescent light come on In April, an Isadora flinging her hot white scarf Across a month mottled by the chemicals Of Daylight Savings Time, in the spokes of the wheels Of hormones turning in the unseasoned…
Gone to seed, ailanthus, the poverty tree. Take a phrase, then fracture it, the pods' gaudy nectarine shades ripening to parrots taking flight, all crest and tail feathers. A musical idea. Macaws scarlet and violet, tangerine as a…
We never had a cabin in the woods. We never had a yard, a dog, a child. We never lived in the same neighborhood. We never ate, half-naked, on a tiled terrace over the vineyards in Languedoc, or drank milkshakes on the toweled front seat of that fifth-hand Chevy pickup truck whose gears required a…
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