A thin gold catch like a bee’s stinger—
    but there are no bees in winter—
lost from a necklace of honey-colored beads,

Puma, cougar, mountain lion, loup—
   this is what I am afraid of. Ocarina,
small singing goose in the break-ax

Before, it was the wind
and the idea of disorder.
And now it is the sea in the kitchen;

Psst. This is just for you, whoever you are, and not for any of the others. I am so excited by the possibility that you will be the one to read this that I cannot contain myself any longer. You will know who I am, won’t you, even though I deliberately make one or too common spelling errers so the others won't guess my identity?

For so many years, Clive Barnes, 
I thought your name was Olive. 
All the things I was reading in books 

I want you to be waiting
outside your door
and squeal excitedly

I'm not sure what to say when the man comes to my door and says he's my brother. It is true that I do have a brother, but this man does not resemble him. The man is battered, blood not quite dry speckling his face. 

          Along with the moths tonight, love runs into the windowpane.
         (“Turn off the light or we’ll have no peace.”)
         No, not love, a mere inkling; love itself is beyond reach. Far

It’s as natural to begin to age
as it is to insist
on chocking the wheels with heads of peonies

We are both in Cambridge, getting ready to load all her possessions into a truck I have hired. I am very excited, because she is coming back to where I live