As for that other thing which comes when the eyelid is gla… and the wax gleam from the unwrinkled forehead asks no more questions
The growing idleness of summer gra… With its frail kites of furious bu… Requests the lemonade of simple pr… In scansion gentler than my hammoc… And rituals no more upsetting than…
There is a shattered palm on this fierce shore, its plumes the rusting helm– et of a dead warrior. Numb Antony, in the torpor
I came up out of the subway and th… people standing on the steps as if… something I didn’t. This was in t… and nuclear fallout. I looked and… was empty, I mean utterly, and I…
BOOK SIX Chapter XLIV In hill-towns, from San Fernando… the same sunrise stirred the feath… down the archipelago’s highways. T…
though our longest sun sets at rig… makes but winter arches, it cannot be long before we lie do… have our light in ashes. . . Browne, Urn Burial
Night, the black summer, simplifie… into a village; she assumes the im… musk of the negro, grows secret as… her alleys odorous with shucked oy… coals of gold oranges, braziers of…
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirr… and each will smile at the other’s…
You can’t put in the ground swell… from the Christiansted, St.Croix,… behind the paratrooper’s voice: ‘T… after Vietnam. I made thirty jump… Bells punish the dead street and p…
Where are your monuments, your bat… Where is your tribal memory? Sirs… in that gray vault. The sea. The… has locked them up. The sea is Hi… First, there was the heaving oil,
After that hot gospeller has level… I wrote the tale by tallow of a ci… Under a candle’s eye, that smoked… Wanted to tell, in more than wax,… All day I walked abroad among the…
The last leaves fell like notes fr… and left their ovals echoing in th… with gawky music stands, the winte… looks like an empty orchestra, its… ruled on these scattered manuscrip…
There were still shards of an anci… in those shires of the island wher… their pools of shadow from an olde… surviving from when the landscape… ‘Herefords at Sunset in the valle…
The fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and I gasp brightness; but it tightens again. When have I ever not loved the pain of love? But this has mov…
Better a jungle in the head than rootless concrete. Better to stand bewildered by the fireflies’ crooked street; winter lamps do not show