…what the Man-Moth fears most he must do..

I have seen it over and over, the same sea, the same,slightly, indifferently swinging above the stones,icily free above the stones,above the stones and then the world.If you should dip your hand in,your wrist would...

One has to commit a painting,’ said Degas,’the way one commits a crime.

How—I didn’t know anyword for it—how “unlikely”. . .How had I come to be here,like them, and overheara cry of pain that could havegot loud and worse but hadn’t?

I never knew him. We both knew this place, apparently, this literal small backwater, looked at it long enough to memorize it, our years apart. How strange. And it’s still loved, or its memory is...

The armored cars of dreams, contrived to let us do so many a dangerous thing.

-Suddenly the bus driverstops with a jolt,turns off his lights.A moose has come out ofthe impenetrable woodand stands there, looms, rather,in the middle of the road.It approaches; it sniffs atthe bus’s hot hood.Towering, antlerless,high as...

Love’s the sonstood stammering elocutionwhile the poor ship in flames went down

Think of the long trip home. Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? Where should we be today? Is it right to be watching strangers in a play in this strangest of...

all my life i have lived and behaved very much like the sandpiper just running down the edges of different countries and continents, looking for something.