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Once upon a time, a couple wandered in a glass forest, hand in hand.

Relief workers tore swaths of insulation from the rafters of the house.

Doctor Dressler left her a note: Suicide. Back by 7:00. Love, Max.

Children, this is what a bad dream looks like, our teacher said.

I sometimes have to laugh because even now, as a middle-aged man.

We are each other’s as surely as song stitches breath to air.

The proper qualities of each sex are eternally surprising to the other.

A man drunk on the damage he made to a boy’s young mouth.

Warm breath in my ear mouthing a name; rivulet folded back in water.

My dear, even my ear is trying to eat itself in its attempt to forget you.

“How is it fair that you know who I am but I have to guess about you?”

I needed more. I worked her lips back and wedged my hand in.

Laurie Saurborn Young

He was reading Our Town. She studied the departure board.

Later in the pale of dawn your hair brushed across my forearm.

Order and gardens. Penelope liked things to grow just as they would.

As a shadow I arouse you will you believe the truth of my mouth.

Put out to pasture, flop down into clover, alternate to the glue factory.

I don’t need to consult a healer to feel the aura glowing around us.

“Out to lunch,” she learns from an older colleague, is a euphemism.

The stories of terror continued well after the tsunami had passed.

I’m trying to decide if I’m too cold to be curious, when the box meows.

For years I thought this light was love, or God, but now I know it’s fear.

He thought of the love that had filled the great central chamber of his life.

The beer and the kissing and the lateness of the hour had got to me.

Doisneau might have eyed and shot us for how brazenly we kissed.

This kind of childhood stuck with a person, twisted things up.

The beasts and fowl and all manner of slithery thing can love like us.

I knew in the dream that I was a condor in the shape of a girl.