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Floods of faces, no sign of a pathway toward Bethlehem, shut off by blizzard.

Frail as a breath, it broke at once, leaving a tiny kiss in my fingers.

I felt nothing, which was cool, totally cool with me. For my blood was cola.

Every touch electric, every taste you, every smell, every cry.

Your face is a grain of rice, one small nothing on the world’s horizon.

Why had she asked him to come along, someone she did not even know?

There’s a god sitting, the morning foaming in his mouth.

A rifle, empty shells, the remains of a man, a bullet through his chest.

Love isn’t the same as happiness. Some poet probably said that.

Home, I thought. This was the new country I had been yearning for.

A voice like my mother’s nail polish and my father’s lottery tickets.

How, like a dream, all the world’s characters are aspects of me.

Lately it’s getting harder to say the true thing, to find solace in nature.

You locate the green outline of the state your cousins are inside of now.

I couldn’t wait. By the time you return it would’ve rotted on the vine.

Two softened reeds of rosemary pair, and spin in the white velouté.

I can remove my hand the second it becomes too much for me.

O Fatima if only you would lean my way my heart would quiver.

I screamed every word and waited for the stones to answer back.

I have to wait till day to tell you that you’ve sunk down below sea level.

Her songs, her records—I entered them. I jumped in and out of myself.

The signal’s too remote and there’s a delay before we can start again.

The blade was buried to the hilt in the outside corner of his left eye.

I pictured myself as a chart inside her head. Two sides: good and bad.

All this while, I am eating the apple in this careless moment of life.

Premonitions return to me like a carrier pigeon, disaster strapped to its leg.

My door overlooks a jade stream, the stillness of dawn drives cares away.

My husband once said he wanted to die eaten by a panther.

Everything comes down to the lightning. Nothing is ever by chance.

There is the ghost of a child in me. It longs to die, so afraid of living.