The Waking
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go. . . .
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Waking from Sleep
Inside the veins there are navies setting forth,
Tiny explosions at the waterlines,
And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood. . . .
The War in the Air
For a saving grace, we didn't see our dead,
Who rarely bothered coming home to die
But simply stayed away out there . . .
War Widow
The telephone never rings. Still
you pick it up, smile into the static,
the breath of those you’ve loved; long dead. . . .
The Watchers
Two women on the lone wet strand
(The wind's out with a will to roam)
The waves wage war on rocks and sand, . . .
Waving Goodbye
I wanted to know what it was like before we
had voices and before we had bare fingers and before we
had minds to move us through our actions . . .
The Way It Sometimes Is
At times it is like watching a face you have just met,
trying to decide who it reminds you of—
no one, surely, whom you ever hated or loved, . . .
Ways of Talking
We used to like talking about grief
Our journals and letters were packed
with losses, complaints, and sorrows.
. . .
The Well Rising
The well rising without sound,
the spring on a hillside,
the plowshare brimming through deep ground . . .
[What horror to awake at night]
What horror to awake at night
and in the dimness see the light.
Time is white . . .
