They are so like …
David St. John
Who keeps the owl’s breath? Whose eyes desire? …
I saw my mother standing there below me …
There’s a mystery …
The way a tired Chippewa woman …
Some days I am happy to be no one …
It was something I’d overheard …
Quiet now, sorrow; relax. Calm down, fear ... …
Out in the orchards the dogs stood …
Standing at the glass-paneled wall of Liza’s kitchen …
So the tide forgets, as morning …
They were sitting on the thin mattress …