And what of the dead? They lie without shoes in the stone boats. They are more like stone than the sea would be if it stopped. They refuse to be blessed, throat, eye and knucklebone.

I cannot walk an inch / without trying to walk to God.

Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside

I find now, swallowing one teaspoon of pain, that it drops downward to the past where it mixes with last year’s cupful and downward into a decade’s quart and downward into a lifetime’s ocean. I alternate treading water and deadman’s float.

But my future is a secret. / It is as shy as a mole.

The soul was not cured, it was as full as a clothes closet of dresses that did not fit.

women are born twice.