Name: Esox lucius. Condition: sunlight splits the teeth into multicolored gleamings; a phallic rust obtains for the entire clotted length of tailless body. Comment: its Kafkaesque grin encircles a single stone of quartzlike mauve: a charm.
In the country that was a time I spoke in tongues, a glossolalia of joy, like birdsong in Beethoven’s Sixth. It was March in that country. At the sign of the Lamb and Lion, a chambermaid flings open a window. That was the time I shed the baggage of extra flesh, to feel frankness on…
This is not a Perigord Of summer truffles: We walk in snow. Ham-deep in white, He stops abruptly to nose The drifts beside the door. I cannot remember What grew there, If anything. But he roots down, eager, Past winter, Into his certainty, And comes up green— Breathed, honking delight, Chewing stems of the mint.
The hard, agglomerated spittle of the sea lost in these shapes; of radiolarian skeletons: wrecked pearls with many eerie doorways opened by light.
for R. F. One whose son has died has to forgive the boys who still live, when they come up the street slowly in a ragged group, talking, three with mitts, one with the ball. Should forgive, and does. And a man whose marriage has broken under his hard pressures or hers has to blink…
You could see mountains and gardens in the name almost: Cuernavaca. But not our garden, hill-hidden, notched in a valley higher than the city. It was ours after a long dinner only when we discovered the ancient stability of three: triangle and tripod. I'd never seen so many waiters, perched in nooks and corners like…
I thought of the young, who came to me then. I taught them a scheme: I said Appetite, Temperament, Discipline — have the one, follow the other, submit to the third. It's yourself that you remake, I said Yeats said. But first you must have had things happen to you. For your own sake. Appetite,…
In the last days of his life, Schubert was frequently delirious, during which time he sang continuously. Fischer-Dieskau, Schubert's Songs The text caught in his blood. Conceived in one quick sure burst, it bloomed like a flower no one-understood. This music was too pure for the piano. Half-dazed friends hearing it ascend like a thin…
When my Aunt Lera — tiny now, slow moving and slow talking — wanted to tell me about her life, she began by saying, “Curtis and me had just one . . . year . . . together.” Curdiss (the way she says it) was a genial great man by all remembrances of him, and…
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