Bluefin TunaBitter friend, pour me the sound of mountainsclimbing under the waves like spreading gills.These fingers liftTo the ones left behindTo the ones silentTo the ones hunted and cradledup and out of the grass green watersin gentle nets: I say, you do not surprise meknocking the waves and wood with sullen flank.You are not unfamiliar, in your blue slip,in this dust of droplets, saltingfirst the dry dock, then the ice.
When the kettle explodesWhen the kettle explodes into shrill white steam, I will not be there.When you look up,the cup will notbe in my hand, the swirling teaspoonnot in my other. The world will shatter, without me,on the edge of a machine recording.I will be your dial tone.
When sadness leavesSadness left me, turnedand closed the doorand hasn't stopped by since."You have no right to me," it said."Just give me one reason," it said."And we'll be together," it said.Dried prunes in the bowl on the tablehad nothing to say. The cat,even less."How dare you," I said."You never put the toilet seat down," I said."I'm better off without you here," I said.And hoping sadness would get held upin a Market Street bazaar, or robbery in progress,I crossed its name out in my address book,and crying, tried to come up with a reason.
La LuneHera's pendant restsAgainst a dark'ning sky;The winking sequinsOn her sable, velvet gownReflect the light of her eyes.
Nous sommes l'emeraudesSupporting the weightOf a heavy atmosphereEmerald pillars rise;Our distorted perspectiveLeaves us musing over worth.
Cold Thoughts一緒に冷たいと思考と沈黙。いっしょにつめたいとしこうとちんもく。(Cold and thoughts and silence together.)
Frost IV.Ghosts tarry at my window,Scripting sad sonnets with their cold breath--The crystal ink of winter.
Frost III. (Demeter)Demeter paints with her sighsOn the barren branches of the trees,Pining sorely for the Spring.
Frost II.The dust of snow fairy wingsIs left glittering on the windowWhere they lingered, seeking warmth.
Frost I.Tiny diamonds strewn, winkingIn silver rays of moonlight o'er bladesOf grass that we've trodden down.
Untitleda lighter toucha green fly on the stringof her guitar
Snowflake FanciesThe plume of a sprite--Which she plucked from her mantle--Is left glitteringOn her downy bed of grass;Soft frosty feathers of snow.