You are the bread and the knife, The crystal goblet and the wine... —Jacques Crickillon You are the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine.

It seems these poets have nothing up their ample sleeves they turn over so many cards so ea… telling us before the first line whether it is wet or dry,

Today we woke up to a revolution o… its white flag waving over everyth… the landscape vanished, not a single mouse to punctuate th… and beyond these windows

I wonder how it all got started, t… about seeing your life flash befor… while you drown, as if panic, or t… could startle time into such compr… decades in the vice of your desper…

All you have to do is listen to th… sometimes talks to his wife at a t… and notice how intent he is on mak… even though her lower lip is begin… and you will know why the women in…

Yesterday, I lay awake in the pal… A soft rain stole in, unhelped by… And when I saw the silver glaze o… I started with A, with Ackerman,… Then Baxter and Calabro,

First, her tippet made of tulle, easily lifted off her shoulders an… on the back of a wooden chair. And her bonnet, the bow undone with a light forwar…

How agreeable it is not to be tour… wandering her cities and ascending… How much better to cruise these lo… fully grasping the meaning of ever… and all the sudden hand gestures o…

I wait for the holiday crowd to cl… before stepping onto the first wav… Soon I am walking across the Atla… thinking about Spain, checking for whales, waterspouts.

The name of the author is the firs… followed obediently by the title,… the heartbreaking conclusion, the… which suddenly becomes one you hav… never even heard of,

I have never been fishing on the… or on any river for that matter to be perfectly honest. Not in July or any month have I had the pleasure—if it is a…

Smokey the Bear heads into the autumn woods with a red can of gasoline and a box of wooden matches. His ranger’s hat is cocked

Tonight the moon is a cracker, with a bite out of it floating in the night, and in a week or so according to the calendar

I knew that James Whistler was pa… but I was still surprised when I… of his mother at the Musée d’Orsa… among all the colored dots and mob… of the French Impressionists.

I remember the night I discovered… lying in bed in the dark, that a few imagined holes of golf worked much better than a thousand… that the local links,