An honest man to whom she could say
That her beauty has been a joke.

Any tourist will tell you:
Envisioning is our medicine.
I, too, hope to see what I can’t see.

The store dick lays a hand on your shoulder
Three steps from the exit. He asks what’s 
In your pockets but it’s more like a statement

At the end of August the air is so clear and light
A body could levitate‚

Because we use the same words
Does not mean we have the same eyes.

Warm abstraction, glimmer and fruit
Of progress, hope and comfortable psychology
We forgive the promises of love, drugs and dieting

The train swayed past cropped fields,
Barking collies, abandoned gas works, cows.
Brown bungalows with little gardens

She didn't like him: long nose baits,
Voice patient yet overbearing (a voice
Meant for a world of women-as-children).
He'd expect a yielding kiss if not more.

One after another the angel of history
Women: rural, 9, 1536, 1547, 1550, the angel of history
1551—52, 1559; in business, 147; and the angel of history

In the mornings we’re in the dark;
even at the end of June
the zucchini keep on the sill.