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It’s life that is hard: sleeping, eating, loving, and dying are easy.

you here and these words also here meeting in your shared beauty

I have so many questions for you, for you are closer to me than anyone.

Poetry can open. Is there a case for poetry in this plague year?

My mother taught me to rebel within the boundaries of acceptability.

Photo portraits, landscapes, and world scenes by Sandra Lloyd.

A clandestine participation through a soundless beauty.

Art is a way for the mind to master the body, even if it is not one’s own.

she thrust to where her gut bucked acid & gave out a taurine heave

The windshield’s dirty, the squirter stuff’s all gone, so we drive on.

I’m tired of the song the rain sings in June, the chorus of hope.

Show me your darkness, your nothing-to-see and everything to touch.

Forgive me, please, for continuing to believe that roses are beautiful.

“Tell me about the things you can’t tell me about when I’m dressed.”

An empty day without events. And that is why it grew immense as space.

Oar blades, vast swirls of cirrus at dawn. The dead move within us.

To me, the very point of cooking is to wildly praise what’s wild.

Every day I was forced to return to the one place I did not want to be.

She looks at them through eyes flattened by a confused life.

Something basks and gathers in the dark parts of an open ear.

How did the light take forty years to work its way across that room.

Before giant pandas earn heir name, they cub pinkly and mewling.

You sounded so confident about the Old Masters and I loved you for that.

Here I am, king of the gods, making a fool of myself just to get under your gown.

James Salter

James Salter

She had boyfriends before she met him. Well, not really boyfriends.

She does not know within a decade she will unload a slug into her mouth.

Their house is what I see when I look up from my notebook.