I started adding up all the things I couldn't do.

The sky leans on me, me, the one upright among all horizontals.

I like you, but not too much. I don’t want to like anybody too much.

Perhaps you considered yourself an oracle, Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or other. Thirty years now I have labored To dredge the silt from your throat. I am none the wiser.

I woke to the sound of rain.

I began to see why woman-haters could make such fools of women. Woman-haters were like gods: invulnerable and chock full of power. They descended, and then they disappeared. You could never catch one.

Everything people did seemed so silly, because they only died in the end.