Nobody believes in love– not even me. Love is the thing you wait to end.

Because she wants to touch him, she moves away. Because she wants to talk to him, she keeps silent. Because she wants to kiss him,

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…

There is only one story: he loved her, then stopped loving her, while she did not stop loving him.

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…

Bobbing in the waters of the womb, little godhead, ten toes, ten fing… & infinite hope, sails upside down through the worl… My bones, I know, are only a cage

You take me to the restaurant wher… plays God over a fish tank. The f… pace their green cage, waiting to… out of an element. Who knows what… There are thirteen in a tank meant

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

Regret is the young girl who sits… & stares at her hands. They are bluer than shadows in sno… They are bloodless as fear. Her fingernail moons are white.

All night he lies awake tuning the… tuning the night with its fat crac… with its melancholy love songs cro… across the rainy air above Verdun & the autobahn’s blue suicidal…

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

I am happiest near the ocean, where the changing light reminds me of my death & the fact that it need not be…

We used to strike sparks off each other. Our eyes would meet or our hands, & the blue lightning of love

In the glass-bottomed boat of our lives, we putter along gazing at the other world under the sea– that world of flickering