A dead beetle lies on the path through the field, [>]
A drop of water fell on my hand, [>]
A few clods of dirt, and his life will be forgotten, [>]
A new star has been discovered, [>]
Across the country’s plains, [>]
After every war, [>]
Against a grayish sky, [>]
Alack and woe, o song: you’re mocking me, [>]
An endless rain is just beginning, [>]
An odd planet, and those on it are odd, too, [>]
And who’s this little fellow in his itty-bitty robe?, [>]
As a short subject before the main feature—, [>]
At midnight, in an empty, hushed art gallery, [>]
Beloved Brethren, [>]
Conceived on a mattress made of human hair, [>]
Dear individual soul, this is the Styx, [>]
Dear mermaids, it was bound to happen, [>]
Décolletage comes from decollo, [>]
Die—you can’t do that to a cat, [>]
Don’t take jesters into outer space, [>]
Everything’s mine but just on loan, [>]
Evicted from the Garden long before, [>]
Faster than sound today, [>]
Few of them made it to thirty, [>]
First, our love will die, alas, [>]
For me, the tragedy’s most important act is the sixth, [>]
Four billion people on this earth, [>]
From scalp to sole, all muscles in slow motion, [>]
From trapeze to, [>]
Happenstance reveals its tricks, [>]
He came home. Said nothing, [>]
He glanced, gave me extra charm, [>]
He made himself a glass violin, so he could see what music looks . . . , [>]
Hear the ballad “Murdered Woman, [>]
Her mad songs over, Ophelia darts out, [>]
Here are plates, but no appetite, [>]
Here comes Her Highness—well you know who I mean, [>]
Here I am, Cassandra, [>]
Here lies, old-fashioned as parentheses, [>]
His skull, dug up from clay, [>]
How many of those I knew, [>]
I am a tarsier and a tarsier’s son, [>]
I am too close for him to dream of me, [>]
I am who I am, [>]
I believe in the great discovery, [>]
I don’t reproach the spring, [>]
I knock at the stone’s front door, [>]
I lost a few goddesses while moving south to north, [>]
I owe so much, [>]
I prefer movies, [>]
I should have begun with this: the sky, [>]
I’d have to be really quick, [>]
I’ll bet you think the room was empty, [>]
If the gods’ favorites die young—, [>]
If there are angels, [>]
If we’d been allowed to choose, [>]
I’m a tranquilizer, [>]
I’m working on the world, [>]
In danger, the holothurian cuts itself in two, [>]
In Heraclitus’s river, [>]
In my dreams, [>]
In Paris, on a day that stayed morning until dusk, [>]
In the old master’s landscape, [>]
In the poem’s opening words, [>]
In the snapshot of a crowd, [>]
In the town where the hero was born you may, [>]
Island where all becomes clear, [>]
It can’t take a joke, [>]
It could have happened, [>]
It has come to this: I’m sitting under a tree, [>]
Job, sorely tried in both flesh and possessions, curses man’s fate, [>]
Kyoto is fortunate, [>]
“La Pologne? La Pologne? Isn’t it terribly cold there?” she asked, [>]
Life While-You-Wait, [>]
Life, you’re beautiful (I say), [>]
Little girls—, [>]
Magic is dying out, although the heights, [>]
Maybe all this, [>]
Memory’s finally found what it was after, [>]
My apologies to chance for calling it necessity, [>]
My nonarrival in the city of N., [>]
My shadow is a fool whose feelings, [>]
My sister doesn’t write poems, [>]
No one in this family has ever died of love, [>]
Nothing can ever happen twice, [>]
Nothing has changed, [>]
Nothing’s a gift, it’s all on loan, [>]
“O Theotropia, my empress consort, [>]
Oh, the leaky boundaries of man-made states!, [>]
On the hill where Troy once stood, [>]
One of those many dates, [>]
Our one-sided acquaintance, [>]
Our twentieth century was going to improve on the others, [>]
Out of a hundred people, [>]
Poets and writers, [>]
Poised beneath a twig-wigged tree, [>]
Reality demands, [>]
Returning memories?, [>]
See how efficient it still is, [>]
She must be a variety, [>]
So he’s got to have happiness, [>]
So much world all at once—how it rustles and bustles!, [>]
“so suddenly, who could have seen it coming,” [>]
So these are the Himalayas, [>]
So this is his mother, [>]
Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. . . . [>]
Some people, [>]
Some people flee some other people, [>]
Subject King Alexander predicate cuts direct, [>]
Thank you, my heart, [>]
The admirable number pi, [>]
The bomb in the bar will explode at thirteen twenty, [>]
The buzzard never says it is to blame, [>]
The commonplace miracle, [>]
The Great Mother has no face, [>]
The hour between night and day, [>]
The little girl I was—, [>]
The marble tells us in golden syllables, [>]
The Master hasn’t been among us long, [>]
The onion, now that’s something else, [>]
The professor has died three times now, [>]
The real world doesn’t take flight, [>]
The two of them were left so long alone, [>]
The world is never ready, [>]
The world would rather see hope than just hear, [>]
There’s nothing more debauched than thinking, [>]
There’s nothing on the walls, [>]
These days we just hold him, [>]
They made love in a hazel grove, [>]
They must have been different once, [>]
They say I looked back out of curiosity, [>]
They were or they weren’t, [>]
They’re both convinced, [>]
This adult male. This person on earth, [>]
This is what I see in my dreams about final exams, [>]
This isn’t Miss Duncan, the noted danseuse?, [>]
This spring the birds came back again too early, [>]
“Thou art certain, then, our ship hath touch’d upon, [>]
Titanettes, female fauna, [>]
To be a boxer, or not to be there, [>]
“Today he sings this way: tralala tra la, [>]
True love. Is it normal, [>]
Under what conditions do you dream of the dead?, [>]
Up the verdantest of hills, [>]
We are children of our age, [>]
We call it a grain of sand, [>]
We read the letters of the dead like helpless gods, [>]
We treat each other with exceeding courtesy, [>]
We used matches to draw lots: who would visit him, [>]
Well, my poor man, [>]
Well-versed in the expanses, [>]
Were extremely fortunate, [>]
What needs to be done?, [>]
“What time is it?” “Oh yes, I’m so happy, [>]
When I pronounce the word Future, [>]
WHOEVER’S found out what location, [>]
Why after all this one and not the rest?, [>]
Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?, [>]
“Woman, what’s your name?” “I don’t know, [>]
Write it down. Write it. With ordinary ink, [>]
You can’t move an inch, my dear Marcus Emilius, [>]
You expected a hermit to live in the wilderness, [>]
You take off, we take off, they take off. [>]
You’re crying here, but there they’re dancing, [>]