(1.1)            The world's the total sum of all the facts,
                        which means a poor account of human
                           acts:

You like leafing through biographies
There you’re in another life
How strange, how startling

My favorite poets
never met
They lived in different countries

The blackened river ran through the park.
Past there, the numb gardens
were hemmed by thick braids of hedges.

Kraków was overcast that morning, the hills steamed.
It was raining in Munich, in valleys the Alps
lay hidden and heavy as stones.

I am a garden graced by every beauty:
See my splendor, then you will know my being.
For Mohammad, my king, and in his name
The noblest things, past or to come, I equal:

Hello everyone, hello you. Here we are under 
this sky. Where were you Tuesday? I was at the El Rancho 
Motel in Gallup.

I heard a little cough
in the room, and turned
but no one was there

My neighbors, my remnants, in what have you chosen 
to bury your heads? Shadow said one mote 
in an auditorium after a lecture.

Today a ladybug flew through my window. I was reading 
about the snowy plumage of the Willow Ptarmigan 
and the song of the Nashville Warbler.