She left him in death’s egg, the bone sack & the gunny sack… the bag of down & feathers-all… Somehow he couldn’t get back. It was night,

My broom with its tufts of roses beckoning at the black, with its crown of thistles, prickling the sky,

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

I was sick of being a woman, sick of the pain, the irrelevant detail of sex, my own concavity uselessly hungering

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,

The great bed of the world arching over graves over Babi Yar with its multitude of bones, with battalions of screams

People who live by the sea understand eternity. They copy the curves of the waves, their hearts beat with the tides, & the saltiness of their blood

Your slit so like mine: the woman of it, the warm womanwide of thigh, & the comfort of it– knowing your nipples like mine,

We have a small sculpture of H… Nothing would surprise him. The beast in the jungle was what h… Edith Wharton’s obfuscating older… He fled the demons

Dear Colette, I want to write to you about being a woman for that is what you write to me. I want to tell you how your face

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

I pass to the other side of the pa… —Pablo Neruda On the other side of the page where the last days go, where the lost poems go,

In the redwood house sailing off into the ocean, I sleep with you– our dreams mingling, our breath coming & going

. .Who shall measure the heat and violence of the poet’s heart when… and tangled in a woman’s body? —Virginia Woolf Every month,