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Loveexpand_moreA rifle, empty shells, the remains of a man, a bullet through his chest.
I wanted to tear away at the fabric of my pants, dig open my skin.
Oh love is stupid but it’s true, all day I feel as if I were a dog on a chain.
She holds the shirt to her face and inhales. With a start she pulls away.
What we know of love between species we learn from the bones.
The human heart is far more intricate than any single term can describe.
Love isn’t the same as happiness. Some poet probably said that.
It wasn’t so long ago I carried my tiny son piggyback through the woods.
We are nothing; less than nothing, we are only what might have been.
Home, I thought. This was the new country I had been yearning for.
The streets were filled with couples and families on their way home.
There is beauty in the way she looks at me over the kitchen table.
Edward the Funny didn’t have much to laugh about in his midthirties.
O Fatima if only you would lean my way my heart would quiver.
“You see,” Sister Elba said, smiling, “you should never doubt him.”
The thing that illuminated him might have been guilt or outright lust.
I have to wait till day to tell you that you’ve sunk down below sea level.
He took off his clothes and left them on the living room floor.
Once she said, “Dying is nothing, but . . . the separation!”
The signal’s too remote and there’s a delay before we can start again.
He was regarded as a visionary and a fool in almost equal measure.
Here is my father on the last day of his exceptionally long life.
I want to be rapt around your linger, not Thumbelina under your dumb.
People didn’t end marriages without warning, without second chances.
Premonitions return to me like a carrier pigeon, disaster strapped to its leg.
To be married is to learn to love, captive in your own new country.
Everything comes down to the lightning. Nothing is ever by chance.
It’s like listening to the snow falling before sticking out your tongue.
There is the ghost of a child in me. It longs to die, so afraid of living.
