Though the road turn at last to death’s ordinary door, and we knock there, ready to enter and it opens easily for us,

As swimmers dare to lie face to the sky and water bears them, as hawks rest upon air and air sustains them,

Pale, then enkindled, light advancing, emblazoning summits of palm and pine,

“I am a landscape,” he said. “a landscape and a person walking… There are daunting cliffs there, And plains glad in their way of brown monotony. But especially

Intricate and untraceable weaving and interweaving, dark strand with light: designed, beyond all spiderly contrivance,

I like to find what’s not found at once, but lies within something of another nature… in repose, distinct.

The red eyes of rabbits aren’t sad. No one passes the sad golden village in a barge any more. The sunset will leave it alone. If the

High in the jacaranda shines the g… of a small bird’s curlicue of song… for her to see or hear. I’ve learned not to say, these last years,

A doll’s hair concealing an eggshell skull delicately throbbing, within which maggots in voluptuous unrest jostle and shrug. Oh, Eileen, my

In the Japanese tongue of the min…

That dog with daisies for eyes who flashes forth flame of his very self at every ba… is the Dog of Art. Worked in wool, his blind eyes

U.S. BURIED IRAQI SOL… ‘What you saw was a bunch of trenches with arms sticking out.’ ‘Plows mounted on

Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appearrs, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted ...