“The day is breaking someone else's heart.”

“Lost, is it, buried? One more missing piece?But nothing's lost. Or else: all is translationAnd every bit of us is lost in it(Or found — I wander through the ruin of SNow and then, wondering at the peacefulness)And in that loss a self-effacing tree,Color of context, imperceptiblyRustling with its angel, turns the wasteTo shade and fiber, milk and memory.”

“Nor do I try to keep a garden, onlyAn avocado in a glass of water --Roots pallid, gemmed with air. And later,When the small gilt leaves have grownFleshy and green, I let them die, yes, yes,And start another. I am earth's no less.”

“The eggshell of appearance split.”

“Beneath my incredulity All at once is flowingJoy, the flash of the unbaited hook --Yes, yes, it fits, it's right, it had to be!Intuition weightless and ongoing Like stanzas in a bookOr golden scales in the melodic brook --”

“Come on! You must have at least suspected there was someone else," he said. "Couldn't you smell her on his pants?”

“What am I waiting for, Emily asked herself. For each Saturday in Young in Heart to end? For Mrs. Conwey to die? For news from some college and a sense of what next year would be?”