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. 

A simple statement like “Void where prohibited”—
How shall I read it?
How shall I think it?

How exactly does one soothe the savage breast? Surely not only with music—and if, indeed, with music, with what kind of music, then? Gypsy lullabies, whale song, Gregorian chants, two-part inventions?

Two girls like angels enthroned beside urns blessed us with coffee. They had made a little sign with the prices neatly lettered. Everything was clear—they had made all the decisions.

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

every song on the radio reminds me of you
each one seems to be the story of our lives
yet i believe nothing is like anything else