What is there in this snowstorm?
So close to my door, it's on the porch.
Accessible as any desert to a Bedouin.
...
A little girl's words
Are like dolls,
All together at a party.
Fancily dressed in curled lines,
...
The inventor is an artist of the road,
Which he builds, from the turning
In the parts that he finds.
...
Enjoying its last footless dance,
The Autumn rain falls like a warm soap.
Where there is room, water sits,
And braces for the winter's rent.
...
B.A. in philosophy, Northeastern University, Boston Massachusetts 1970)
Is That You?
Is that you?
Seated, the motionless,
Black haired girl.
How uncertain I am from here.
What little of you do I know.
What confusion, design, collapsing,
You bring.
There, moves her wrist,
Is that you?
It is.