One afternoon I waded waist deep through
yellow grass to the old apple tree and there...

I was writing a poem
about a congregation leaving church...

Winter is coming and
things are happening...

You like to strip yourself
with the light behind you, your...

Inside, the temple is cool.
God is made of incense, marigolds and damp stone...

At the gates outside
stands a dark thin man...

There, caught
twisted like a...

Miss King is fat
with flesh, flesh...

I like to see a little girl
playing with her brother's friends...

These nights, love comes easily.
The air is honey-thick and steeped with Spring...

First, I hear the curtains drawn back. Next,
the door's distant creak and the rustle...

It's late August already, and the magnolias
bloom pink and white against the weatherboard...