An ingenuity too astonishing to be quite fortuitous is this bog full of sundews, sphagnum… lines and shaped like a teacup. A step

Late in the day the fog wrung itself out like a sponge in glades of rain, sieving the half-invisible cove with speartips;

While the sun stops, or seems to, to define a term for the indeterminable, the human aspect, here in the West Village, spindles

The magpie and the bowerbird, its… predilection unheard of by Marco… when he came upon, high in Badakhs… that blue stone’s embedded glint of pyrites, like th…

Lost aboard the roll of Kodac– olor that was to have super– seded all need to remember Somerset were: a large flock of winter-bedcover—thick—

While you walk the water’s edge, turning over concepts I can’t envision, the honking buoy serves notice that at any time the wind may change,

The West Village by then was chan… the rundown brownstones at its far… would have slipped into trendier h… impervious to trends, behind a pot… rubber trees, with three cats, a c…

cold nights on the farm, a sock-sh… stove-warmed flatiron slid under the covers, mornings a damascene– sealed bizarrerie of fernwork decades ago now

Nothing’s certain. Crossing, on… the low-tide-uncovered isthmus, sc… the scree-slope of what at high ti… will be again an island, to where, a decade since well-bein…

Tufts, follicles, grubstake biennial rosettes, a low– life beach-blond scruff of couch grass: notwithstanding the interglinting dregs

Force of reason, who shut up the s… foul Furies in the dungeon of the… led whimpering to the cave they li… beneath the rock your city founder… who, equivocating, taught revenge…

In memory of Father Flye, 1884-19… The strange and wonderful are too… The protea of the antipodes—a grea… globed, blazing honeybee of a bloo… for sale in the supermarket! We ar…

Daily the cortege of crumpled defunct cars goes by by the lasagna– layered flatbed truckload: hardtop

A vagueness comes over everything, as though proving color and contou… alike dispensable: the lighthouse extinct, the islands’ spruce-tips drunk up like milk in the

a stone at dawn cold water in the basin these walls’ rough plaster imageless after the hammering