Who put that crease in your soul?
In your small garden
An old man, by a dim light
John One takes his place at the table
Hers is the clean apron
The price of a goose egg
Watching James Bond
It's better by car, so walk
John Davies, eighty-five cold winters
The view from half-way is nobody's view
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the rain
Someone put a grenade in the fruit bowl
I walked him home through the suburban cool
The French Exchange
It must have been too cold for him, his heart gave way
Upon the burning of our house
The sea is calm tonight
He disappeared in the dead of winter
He worked hard, made a good sound
The days dawns stinking of flowers and rain
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