It announces itself as a rustle in the bushes, as a tug of the hem, as a flash of light in the eye, as
(for Jackson Pollock and Ruth Kligman, artists & lovers, after Pollock’s last painting “Red, Black & Silver”) It was the summer of illicit love
Such as is a dish of water, such is the soul. —Epictetus, The Discourses Descartes believed that the soul resided in the pineal gland,
I didn’t believe you about the bird: not the eyes you said were made from leaves. Nor did I believe in longing that