The light will inch across the ceilinguntil it meets the wall. The sheetswill seem softer than you remember.
Deep in the wood where things escape their names,Her childish arm draped round the fawn’s soft neck(Her diffidence, its skittishness in check,Merged in the anonymity that tames),She knits her brow, but nothing now reclaimsThe syllables that...
the wind carries its empty package through the streets
The cloud moves off the escarpment.The man is seen on the granite face,A spider, hanging for a long time
What did he say, coming out of that caveAfter a hundred forty days, and the worldStill skipping past the stars, the sun
The tall Fijian spears a giant turtleAnd hurls him down upon the foaming breakers;
The first wife floats in memory calmlywho formerly was storm-tossed, who gaveat the edges a whitewash to those rocks
of myself, begging your pardon, as a young man,quick to draw arms, quickto take a fence for daggers toward myheart,
I give the black pit dream’s head,not fearing to hit bottom, to the waterI offer my head like a stone,