It seemed the kind of life we want… Wild strawberries and cream in the… Sunlight in every room. The two of us walking by the sea n… Some evenings, however, we found o…

This last continent Still to be discovered. My hand is dreaming, is building Its ship. For crew it takes A pack of bones, for food

Fingers in an overcoat pocket. Fingers sticking out of a black leather glove. The nails chewed raw. One play is called “Thieves’ Market,” another “Night in a Dime Museum.” The fingers w...

The mail truck goes down the coast Carrying a single letter. At the end of a long pier The bored seagull lifts a leg now… And forgets to put it down.

With only his dim lantern To tell him where he is And every time a mountain Of fresh corpses to load up Take them to the other side

The truth is dark under your eyeli… What are you going to do about it? The birds are silent; there’s no o… All day long you’ll squint at the… When the wind blows you’ll shiver…

Here come my night thoughts On crutches, Returning from studying the heaven… What they thought about Stayed the same,

The mad and homeless take shelter Against the cold weather In tombs of the fabulously rich, Where they huddle in their rags And make themselves scarce only

In my great grandmother’s time, All one needed was a broom To get to see places And give the geese a chase in the… •

On the road with billowing poplars… In a country flat and desolate To the far-off gray horizon, where… A man and a woman went on foot, Each carrying a small suitcase.

Executioner happy to explain How his wristwatch works As he shadows me on the street. I call him that because he is grim… And wears black.

Where it says snow read teeth-marks of a virgin Where it says knife read you passed through my bones like a police-whistle

How much death works, No one knows what a long Day he puts in. The little Wife always alone Ironing death’s laundry.

Extraordinary efforts are being ma… To hide things from us, my friend. Some stay up into the wee hours To search their souls. Others undress each other in darke…

A New Version: 1980 What is that little black thing I… in the white? Walt Whitman One