Heather McHugh

Welling and flowing and fastening faster than usual, it became the fever: faces waved and surfed across its surface. . . .People passing on the sidewalk, maybe, (that's what something stabilizing in her told her); people walking on the side-pass, [...]

There is much unsaid, though the edges of the said so long and so perversely have attracted me. Even now, how can I say what torments of mind in animal amountto my drive to comprehend you? You who have become my being, my own— owner than myself.  [...]

I wasn't getting anywhere. What good was the book of matches, watch of wheels, the mechanisms of my sex? Where was the most of myself I meant to make? Mistress of the minded Q, the pointed I I knew discretion comes to order, and the million likenesse [...]

I.Nobody's (not Rilke's even, whose shade doesn't sleep), they are all their own (are they a they?—this shameless abundance that grows most in the whirlpools of its smell till the whole rosebush was never green,the memory of green only a movin [...]