Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with…

This is a place on the way after t… can no longer be kept straight her… of the barn a mound of wheels has… raveling courses to stop in a sing… and lie down as still as the chari…

It was a late book given up for lo… again and again with its sentences bare at last and phrases that seem… revealing what had been there the… the poems of daylight after the da…

Naturally it is night. Under the overturned lute with its One string I am going my way Which has a strange sound. This way the dust, that way the du…

Listen with the night falling we are sayi… we are stopping on the bridges to… we are running out of the glass ro… with our mouths full of food to lo…

Why did he promise me that we would build ourselves an ark all by ourselves out in back of the house on New York Avenue

When you go away the wind clicks a… The painters work all day but at s… Showing the black walls The clock goes back to striking th… That has no place in the years

Moored to the same ring: The hour, the darkness and I, Our compasses hooded like falcons. Now the memory of you comes aching… With a wash of broken bits which n…

The friends have gone home far up… of that river into whose estuary the man from England sailed in his… in time to catch sight of the late… furring in black the remotest edge…

Gray whale Now that we are sinding you to Th… That great god Tell him That we who follow you invented fo…

In the evening all the hours that weren’t used are emptied out and the beggars are waiting to gat… to open them

In a dream I returned to the rive… Five orange trees by the bridge an… Beside two mills my house Into whose courtyard a blind man f… The goats and stood singing

When Hans Hofmann became a hedgeh… somewhere in a Germany that has vanished with its forests and hedg… Shakespeare would have been a youn… starting out in a country that was

With what stillness at last you appear in the valley your first sunlight reaching down to touch the tips of a few high leaves that do not stir

The star in my Hand is falling All the uniforms know what’s no us… May I bow to Necessity not To her hirelings