They arrive inside They object at evening. There’s no one to meet them. The lamps they carry Cast their shadows

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

Not a peep out of you now After the bedlam early this mornin… Are you begging pardon of me Hidden up there among the leaves, Or are your brains momentarily ove…

To find clues where there are none… That’s my job now, I said to the Dictionary on my desk. The world… My window has grown illegible, And so has the clock on the wall.

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 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

You must come to them sideways In rooms webbed in shadow, Sneak a view of their emptiness Without them catching A glimpse of you in return.

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

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.

And the one that’s got it in for y… Mister, that keeps taunting you In an old man’s morning wheeze Every time you so much as glance a… Or blurt something in your defense…

The obvious is difficult To prove. Many prefer The hidden. I did, too. I listened to the trees. They had a secret

Father studied theology through th… And this was exam time. Mother knitted. I sat quietly wit… Full of pictures. Night fell. My hands grew cold touching the fa…

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.

You give the appearance of listeni… To my thoughts, o trees, Bent over the road I am walking On a late summer evening When every one of you is a steep s…

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