a heart exposed yet loveddespite itself.

Dizzy and cold, the stars are wearing veils of griefand weeping as if over me.Under such a sky the only sense I have of myself is senselessness—the indiscriminate achingin the spoon of my neck which comes like noise in the night, quickand hysterical, the breaking up of thingsthat should not be so fragile.

Your face is under gauze and ever at a distance.

At the midnight of our trouble,there are signs in the moon and in the stars.He will not say that he belongs to me,and still I bend to wash his feet.

Evanescent grace, you vanish as a vapordoes, or love in open air.

They seemed blankerthan when first they left, as if Heaven were a clinic,and they were cured.

Every sprig of hope I plantturns wilty in my palm

Everywhere I look is something new to grieve:

I am a broken vessel, Lord—rubble where a soul should be,