Black ship of night sailing through the world & the moon an orange slice tangy to the teeth of lovers who lie

He still wears the glass skin of c… Under his hands, the stones turn m… His eyes are knives. Who froze the ground to his feet? Who locked his mouth into an horiz…

If God is a dog drowsing, contemplating the quintessential dogginess of the universe, of the whole canine race, why are we

I love to go to sleep, When bed takes me like a lover wrapping my limbs in cool linen, soothing the fretfulness

When the devil brings him, like a Christmas puppy, examine his downy fur & smell his small paws for the scent of sulphur.

I am the Sphinx. I am the woman buried in sand up to her chin. I am waiting for an archaeologist to unearth me,

I sit at my desk alone as I did on many Sunday afternoons when you came back to me, your arms aching for me,

Goddess, I come to you my neck wreathed with rosebuds, my head filled with visions of inf… my palms open to your silver nails… my eyes open to your rays of illum…

For Naomi Lazard Sometimes I can’t wait until I… —Naomi Lazard My friends are tired. The ones who are married are tired

Because my grandmother’s hours were apple cakes baking, & dust motes gathering, & linens yellowing & seams and hems

Because you did, I too arrange fl… Watching the pistils just like ins… And the hard, red flesh of the pet… Widening beneath my eyes. They mo… Of clocks, seeming not to move exc…

There is a white wood house near… in whose garden the nightingale st… Though Keats is dead, the bird wh… returns with melodies, on easeful… A lock of hair the poet’s love rec…

Baby-witch, my daughter, my worship of the Goddess alone condemns you to the fire. . .

Sometimes the poem doesn’t want to come; it hides from the poet like a playful cat who has run