Let God be some tribal female who is known but forbidden.

We talked death with burned-up intensity, both of us drawn to it like moths to an electric light bulb. Sucking on it!

In a dream you are never eighty.

It was as if a morning-glory had bloomed in her throat, and all that blue and small pollen ate into my heart, violent and religious

I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God. For better or worse you inherit me.

All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.

The snow has quietness in it; no songs, no smells, no shouts or traffic. When I speak my own voice shocks me.