I read, I thought, I wrote

Sad is the man who is asked for a story and can't come up with one. His five-year-old son waits in his lap. Not the same story, Baba. A...

I  TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless;     That only men incredulous of despair,     Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air...

listen, you a wonder. you a city of a woman. you got a geography of your own. listen, woman, you not a noplace anonymous girl; mi...

No one heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor ch...

I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious ...

When I heard the learn'd astronomer, When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, When I was shown the charts and d...

Barefoot through the bazaar, and with the same undulant grace as the cloth blown back from her face, she glides with a stone jar high on...