— April, 1945 This soldier, this boy who moves through the innocent trees, does he regret the man he half-pushes, half-carries? The Rhine — simply another battle, a collage of mines, the human spasm: hands, hearts lost to maggots in the undergrowth. He marches on a thin gravel road, his footfall, meagre. A dung beetle…
Such wonderful tales leap, tongue-tied, from these broken names then vanish, one by one. Now morning's vanished too; each cracked stone tablet sheathes itself in noon's broad band of light — this clear, cold light, the special province of one anxious, backward glance. Lost stories fill the ear's one room with other rooms—all empty, room…
Like the purple seed inside a locket the memory of such a dress hides in the heart growing what seems so slight. For years I've been asking myself why falling in love with floaty pink stripes, soft cotton. At the mall, always alone, slightly embarrassed to be there at all, I lose myself among the…
I am willing to die at some time but on a morning choice as this I would find it too hard to give up the lavish details of this world voluntarily. Content as I am in my study of whatever passes my wrought-iron chair, I listen to all the varied forms of peace: the wind…
In a little casket, a garden begins to grow: wild roses pink as the mouths of house cats, daisies going to pieces in a loves me, loves me not lullaby, the white light of calla lilies flooding the vault's wall. Is there a baby in the casket? Yes, the blue kingdom inhabited by you, my…
Not much time left here in the other Brooklin overlooking Herrick Bay driven like an anchor into the town's center it is as though all of the animals had come out of the woods to speak now in that instant when the season flees and leaves its shards in the middens the black bear, the…
for Andy and Gail How did I spend my evening? By coming home in rain that slowly translated itself into curtain after curtain of oriental beads that I brushed through cold and very tired. All winter the repairman has come dressed in sweaters, never coats, crouched in darkness at the heart of things, trying to…
The morning a wind was up but I stopped to look anyway, bent barefoot to a net of flashing crystals, grass tips had picked their green way into a spider's threaded fan spread on the lawn last night— and standing, I saw the bone from inside the raspberry still hung on the stem, that white…
The Rabbi saw a Torah-scroll surrounded by a fence with one picket missing. . .The iron points glowed, and the gap was like a missing tooth in the face of God. So Talmud was written. I let the book slide to the floor, and shred puckers on the pink chenille bedspread. This is my new…
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