Deftly they opened the brain of a child, and it was full of flying dreams.
How shall the heart be reconciled / To its feast of losses?
Certainly the modern poets I cherish most are disturbing spirits; they do not come to coo.
In every house of marriage there's room for an interpreter.
In a murderous time/the heart breaks and breaks/and lives by breaking.
A longing for the dance stirs in the buried life.