my little grandmother knows no pain she believes that hunger—is food
[…]
That night I read The Revolt of the Masses not yet knowingthat at that same hour theyset houses on fire. They say,an old woman tossed in flames trying
All I can do to keep from believing where, in truth, your last steps led,
Like wallabies we hurtle This way and that Unworried whether the world Be round or flat.
A yacht lies down in my window, on the harbour the dusk has come.
Wake with a kiss on your lips. The sun steps down through trees. You sit in the corner of my eye all morning, working on something.