A murder of crows
A widow stands at a window
All my lovers, in alphabetical order
Anger does not arouse a chair, grief, a table
Boys with bread-pudding in the hands, kicking a can
But not the kitchen sink
Driving along the motorway
Grant me good rest tonight, Lord
How d'you get down off an elephant?
Is the soul solid, like iron?
Late afternoon shines through chinks in the barn
Laura sleeping without pants
Marie drives back and forth
The evenings dazzle
The smell of boiling jam
There will be talking of lovely things
Things will be different
What is a room if not its memories?
What we call a beginning is often an end
When a lover dies
Why do they call it ashes?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment