the absent have left the window open:the last soldier, stricken,his moustache gently covered over, has left the bedundone[…]
I watcheda juncoclimb a spruceas if upona spiral stair […]
Like rivers, my thoughts flow south,for no particular reason.Must be the full moonThat floods the sky, and makes the night wakefuland full of remorse.
Nothing to hosanna,you will be buried
Cold. Only the livinggo on living.
His face coming briefly into view
As the crowd pushes
Toward the subway entrance.
In its frame of light it faintly glows,like a projection screen […]
Whose name will be inscribed in the book just before mine?
appear overnight in the white gauzesoaking up her wound.