“After hearts shot through with arrows, we have bunnies followed by a warlike fire in the sky, then ghosts, turkeys to honor more ghosts, and a baby born in a barn who is not yet a ghost but also a ghost, for whom we drag trees inside where they do not belong.”

“(What are your ghosts like?)(They are on the insides of the lids of my eyes.)(This is also where my ghosts reside.)(You have ghosts?)(Of course I have ghosts.)(But you are a child.)(I am not a child.)(But you have not known love.)(These are my ghosts, the spaces amid love.)”

“I study nature so as not to do foolish things.”

“Attempting to Soar"A boy from Brooklyn used to cruise on summer nights.As soon as he’d hit sixty he’d hold his hand out the window,cupping it around the wind. He’d been assuredthis is exactly how a woman’s breast feels when you putyour hand around it and apply a little pressure. Now he knew,and he loved it. Night after night, again and again, untilthe weather grew cold and he had to roll the window up.For many years afterwards he was perpetually attemptingto soar. One winter’s night, holding his wife’s breastin his hand, he closed his eyes and wanted to weep.He loved her, but it was the wind he imagined now.As he grew older, he loved the word etcetera and refusedto abbreviate it. He loved sweet white butter. He oftenpretended to be playing the organ. On one of his last mornings,he noticed the shape of his face molded in the pillow.He shook it out, but the next morning it reappeared.”

“The teacher asks a question.You know the answer, you suspectyou are the only one in the classroom who knows the answer, because the personin question is yourself, and on that you are the greatest living authority,but you don’t raise your hand.You raise the top of your deskand take out an apple.You look out the window.You don’t raise your hand and there issome essential beauty in your fingers,which aren’t even drumming, but lie flat and peaceful.The teacher repeats the question. Outside the window, on an overhanging branch,a robin is ruffling its feathersand spring is in the air.”

“Something unpronounceablefollowed by a long silencepoints out my lifeis becoming a landscape.”

“For years the tears fellwithout touching the ground.On this night they hit the floor.”