Sometime I'll be
getting high, off...

I figure near the equator,
in that sticky delirious...

Arms flung white and stiff above her head
fingers clutch the shelf...

I spotted God the other night
turning a corner in my mind...

Curling ashes as soft
as feathers, aloft are...

There is nothing so perfect
as the bud before the bloom, nothing...

Hope on the fingertips of branches!
Springing up in paisley-patterned green and gold...

Shivering, I go
with a red ribbon in...

Thunder clouds, coffee brown
roll and rumble over town...

On the red couch of passion we recline,
my incomplete lover and I...

Warm wood held tight
like a body to the chest, neck...

Little nymph, you call me
I am cool and white, bathing in your smile...