The Witch's Life" When I was a child there was an old woman in our neighborhood whom we called The Witch. All day she peered from her second story window from behind the wrinkled curtains and sometimes she would open the window and yell: Get out of my life! She had hair like kelp and a voice like a boulder. I think of her sometimes now and wonder if I am becoming her.

As for me, I am a watercolor. I wash off.

Sometimes I fly like an eagle but with the wings of a wren

Not that it was beautiful, but that I found some order there.

You lay, a small knuckle on my white bed; lay, that fist like a snail, small and strong at my breast. Your lips are animals; you are fed with love. At first, hunger is not wrong.

In a dream you are never eighty.

Being kissed on the back of the knee is a moth at the windowscreen.