How she loved that passage, even though one of “them”
had written it. But James was different: He could see
how women think—and how most men aren’t able to.

how softly one is seduced by whispers.
Take notice, when leafing through, say, a Calvino novel,
of all of the pages gone blank

It was the sound of her writing that woke me. Since you ask, this
is what I remember. Her desk is just outside my room. Some days

September’s lovely in New York, the sky 
Returned to baby blue, the breeze now mild 
As breath, and if you’ve anything at all 

The willow is bare and the sky is full of willow.
Weeping into gutters, the sound of tires in rain
flows down and rises up to open windows

Let us console you. 
Music’s the answer. 
Of course, we’re caught 

That’s me on his left. If neither one of us 
looks comfortable, it’s because I said 
I’m sorry to hear about his heart. 

The chopping of the chocolate, the zesting of the orange,
the scalding of the milk,
the pouring of the cream, the folding-in,

Always already, the word within the world.
So the spider spins the same web each morning
and you are born into meaning