Yang had come home from the factory for lunch.

Vacation has begun.

History is in the panorama, buried like old stones or sediment from an older era.

"Bob walks me to work every day at the preschool where I teach, and while we walk he talks to me about what he’s writing."

After the sun went down, you saw the streets of the town fill with people.

Her name was Ruby and she would have been nine.

A man and a woman move into a new apartment.

This chair delivered yesterday / built for a large heavy man / left me from his estate / lies sidewise legs upturned

The day is perfectly just out of focus.

Ringing on the street, you know, that day I saw / a girl on a bike get hit by a pickup

The pure spores of anthrax / go forward

I can barely discern, / Through a murmur, / Erotic polyphony— / A diaphane, a daybreak.

Bug cloud was my cabin at sleepaway camp

I want you to come now!

How long have I left you?—played the wolf / or the witch.

A farmer / takes his 87- / year-old mother / to Beijing / on a tricycle

Six o’clock came and went, but Angelika wasn’t really worried.

Far over the horizon, out in the North Atlantic, where one might expect a clear run to Iceland or even Labrador, or, if anything, just a guano-streaked gull slum, the island of Rona is one last green hill rising from the waves.