“Twenty-two poems covered the period from Lev’s first serious efforts to his arrest in 1948 at the age of nineteen. Very Mandelstamian, I adjudged: well-made, and studiously conversational, and coming close, here and there, to the images that really hurt and connect.”

“One and two and three and four and five and six…”Oh, God don’t let me hurt him.“…and seven and eight and nine and ten and eleven…”Am I really doing this? Here? Is this real?“…and twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen…”We’re in the middle of nowhere. No one is going to find us. Even the fire has gone out.“…and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen…”He’s dead. I’m just beating on his body.“…and twenty and twenty-one and twenty-two and twenty-three and twenty-four…”My arms hurt. How can my arms hurt now? Blake. I can’t. I can’t be here without you.“…and twenty-five and twenty-six and twenty-seven and twenty-eight and twenty-nine and thirty.”The next step was simple: cover his mouth and fill his lungs with air. Breathe into him with life’s breath. Livia did so, licked her lips, and started compressions again.“And one and two and three and four and five and six and seven…”I’ve got to be positive. I have to know he’ll make it.“…and eight and nine and ten and eleven and twelve and thirteen and fourteen…”We’re going to grow old together, Blake. We’re going to hold hands and kiss.“…and fifteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen…”I’m giving you all my energy. All this love and hope. It’s going from my heart to yours, through my hands.“…and twenty and twenty-one and twenty-two and twenty-three…”Feel it, Blake. Feel it.“…and twenty-four and twenty-five and twenty-six and twenty-seven…”I love you so much. I’m going to love you forever. Can you feel that, Blake?“…and twenty-eight and twenty-nine and thirty.”Livia leaned down, repositioned Blake’s head, and filled his lungs twice more. As she put her hands on his chest to keep her rhythm, she looked down at his face, at his skin.“And one and two and three and four and five and six…”Am I imagining that? Your skin?“…and seven and eight and nine and ten and eleven…”Blake! Blake, your skin! It’s just like glass, Blake. You’re really sparkling. I can see it. I can really see it. Your skin is amazing!Livia’s tears landed on her hard-pumping hands. Nothing would stop her from beating Blake’s heart for him now. Nothing. Not even the sound of people crashing through the woods.“…and twelve and thirteen and fourteen and fifteen and sixteen and seventeen…”You’re glistening, Blake. I’ll never stop. I’ll never stop.”

“Every poem is an infant labored into birth and I am drenched with sweating effort, tired from the pain and hurt of being a man, in the poem I transform myself into a woman.”

“I am still of [the] opinion that only two topics can be of the least interest to a serious and studious mood--sex and the dead.”

“Halfway through April Naoko turned twenty. She was seven months older than I was, my own birthday being in November. There was something strange about Naoko's becoming twenty. I felt as if the only thing that made sense, whether for Naoko or for me, was to keep going back and forth between eighteen and nineteen. After eighteen would come nineteen, and after nineteen, eighteen. Of course. But she turned twenty. And in the fall, I would do the same. Only the dead stay seventeen forever.”

“We can either have a twenty-first-century conversation about morality and the human well-being - a conversation in which we avail ourselves of all scientific insights and philosophical arguments that have accumulated in the last two thousand years of human discourse - or we can confine ourselves to a first-century conversation as it is preserved in the Bible.”