She leaps into the alien heart of the passerby, the drunk, the girl who spouts Freudian talk over Szechuan food. She is part herself,

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

On a darkening planet speeding toward our death, we pierce a rosy cloud & hit clean air,

My love is too much– it embarrasses you– blood, poems, babies, red needs that telephone from foreign countries,

For David Karetsky (April 14, 19… Putting the skis down in the white snow, the wind singing, the blizzard of time

These beautifully grown men. Thes… Look at them looking! They’re overdrawn on all accounts… & they’ve missed (for the hundredth time) the expre…

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

On the first night of the full moon, the primeval sack of ocean broke, & I gave birth to you

Male? Female? God doesn’t care about sex & the long tree-shaded avenue

This is the long tunnel of wanting… Its walls are lined with remembere… wet & red as the inside of you… full & juicy as your probing t… warm as your belly against mine,

Now, moving in, cartons on the flo… the radio playing to bare walls, picture hooks left stranded in the unsoiled squares where pain… and something reminding us

For Jennifer Josephy On cold days it is easy to be reasonable, to button the mouth against kisses… dust the breasts

Sometimes the poem doesn’t want to come; it hides from the poet like a playful cat who has run