I stock the sky’s night waters with dim barge-loads of turquoise
before lofting them southerly, just under the moon.

All this happened when I was young:

I stopped knowing anybody. I waited for somebody to know me. I knew most of my strangers in depth; acquaintanceship stifled this; strangeness had to be the bond. Maybe I was too small to be seen. 

She was born Sarah Gossett Ballenger—
Sarah our mother's proper name, Gossett our mother's
family name, Ballenger the name of her father.

Sometimes in the evening I see
coming toward me, from a distance,
a kind of blossom: huge, blue, nodding

In fact, my hand is not a hand
but a whole house, and there is no time
but a thick, reluctant river

How strange to see their faces start to worry
Into ours, and after all those years
We spent pretending we had made a life

The sun’ s suspended like a drop of amber
Above the crescent of a colonnade.
And he is standing on a gravel path

For a long time, a huge
ragweed has been standing
in the flowers

Eternal Aphrodite, Zeus’s daughter, throne
Of inlay, deviser of nets, I entreat you:
Do not let a yoke of grief and anguish weigh

Spheroid
Fruit, pleasing
To taste, fattened
By water gushing in all