simple as crickets, our own light
blurred in the sparkle of particulars.

If there is a God, he has a lot to answer for.

Elsewhere bears were trusting their bodies
to take them to safety, but what did bears know

It’s vanishing as you speak, the soul-grit,
the story-fodder

What a life you’ve had! A face like a photo album,
a road map of good times. Its zigzagged lines
      resemble

there walked one Iraqi in a three-piece suit
who tried to express by his general indifference

at the corner of your eye, right
where the eyeball swivels

never too much; it sits on top of the skin like a
little crystal casket.

the thing I hankered after was no
rite but a foundation, the bedrock

And Denner: I shouldn’t like to be a man—
to cough so loud, and stand straddling about …