The gathering family throws shadows around us, it is the late afternoon Of the family. There is still enough light

The door of winter is frozen shut, and like the bodies of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever

I sing a song of the croissant and of the wily French who trick themselves daily back to the world

Finding a new poet is like finding a new wildflower out in the woods. You don’t see its name in the flower books, and nobody you tell believes

Because the shad are swimming in our waters now, breaching the skin of the river with their

When our cars touched When you lifted the hood of mine To see the intimate workings under… When we were bound together By a pulse of pure energy,

What we want is never simple. We move among the things we thought we wanted: a face, a room, an open book

Perhaps the purpose of leaves is t… the verticality of trees which we… as if for the first time: row afte… yearning upwards. And since we wil… ourselves for so long, let us now…

I remember what my father told me: There is an age when you are most… He was just past fifty then, Was it something about the trees t… There is an age when you are most…

After Adam Zagajewski I am child to no one, mother to a… wife for the long haul. On fall days I am happy with my dying brethren, the leaves…

We think of hidden in a white dres… among the folded linens and sachet… of well-kept cupboards, or just ou… sending jellies and notes with no… to all the wondering Amherst neigh…

Some say it was a pear Eve ate. Why else the shape of the womb,

Into the gravity of my life, the serious ceremonies of polish and paper and pen, has come this manic animal