They say it is waiting for more, t… Shrunk up to the shadow-line of wa… In an arctic smouldering, an uncle… And will not go until the frost re… Sharpening the stars, and the fres…

Eyeing the grass for mushrooms, yo… A stone or stain, a dandelion puff Deceive your eyes—their colour is… To plump the image out to mushroom… And lead you through illusion to a…

All afternoon the shadows have bee… A city of their own within the str… Carefully correcting the perspecti… With dark diagonals, and paring ba… Sidewalks into catwalks, strips of…

Three jets are streaking west: Trails are beginning to fray alrea… The third, the last set out, Climbs parallel a March sky Paying out a ruled white line:

Trees in this landscape signal the presence of a river. A side road leads us on— parched grass, a rock horizon— and winds us towards

Too little has been said of the door, its one face turned to the night’s downpour and its other

A capuchin—long acquaintance with… Has left him taciturn—stands guard At gate and stairhead. Silent, he… The coin we drop into his dish, an… Withdraws to contemplation—though…

I have climbed blind the way down… (How faint the phosphorescence of… On nights when not a light showed… And nothing marked the line of sky… Only the beating of the heart defi…

These days are best when one goes… The house a reservoir of quiet cha… The creak of furniture, the window… Brushed by the half-rhymes of acti… That do not quite declare what thi…

Swifts do not sing: what they do well is sleep on the wing, moving always higher and higher in their almost entirely