The old wooden steps to the front door …
Denise Levertov
Brown gas-fog, white …
The clouds as I see them, rising …
From the tawny light …
As the stores close, a winter light …
Genial poets, pink-faced …
Hypocrite women, how seldom we speak …
Pale, then enkindled, …
After I had cut off my hands …
Silent, about-to-be-parted-from house. …
A voice from the dark called out, …
A doll's hair concealing …
I like to find …
Though the road turn at last …
I am angry with X, with Y, with Z, …
I thought I was growing wings— …
‘That creep Tolstoy,’ she sobbed. …
The ache of marriage: …
Two girls discover …
The red eyes of rabbits …
How gray and hard the brown feet of the wretched of the earth. …
To lie back under the tallest …
My wedding-ring lies in a basket …
This person would be an animal. …