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The longing to know hovered like a star above this child-woman.

She wants something red and shiny that always works.

For days after she left him, he roamed the house, unable to function.

He’s gonna change the way we farm around here. Make it more like India.

Our neighbors the Bells are watching, watching us when we play outside.

The Bengalis negotiate their space with corrupt politicians and landsharks.

When we wake up, the five windows and the French door are full of light.

Translucent white prayer strings of her bonnet trailing in the air.

A branch breaks and the body lands the wrong way. Snapping is easy.

The Renaissance mastered the illusion of depth on a flat plane.

I’m there inside La Fonda at the bar ordering another glass of red wine!

Photo portraits, landscapes, and world scenes by Sandra Lloyd.

We would just roll down the old biology road like all the other suckers.

A world of adventure awaited, a world of beautiful, available women.

We’ve seen a lot of smaller ranches bought up by outside money.

I used to be known for the humor of my music, the lightness of touch.

Words appear like the answer to a question I hadn’t yet asked.

All day we lay on the bed, my hand stroking the deep gold of your thighs.

A woman’s long bare legs stretched up at the edge of the graveyard.

Trailblazers we celebrate. Those outcasts, outliers, and outlaws.

No one asked that, changed as he was, he do more than survive.

He got people on the conveyor belt that carried them up to heaven.

Burly Viking raiders are standing in the coffee line, sharing pickles.

Certain elements of isolation were built into the design, given the odds.

If this farmer worried about her husband, he gave no sign.

It’s difficult to be blessed by Madam Pele. She gives wonderful trouble.

Kenny Wade makes do with short-term schemes and part-time work.

I was always being left behind in the mud, a bandage around my eyes.

Salt lick inquest skill-step stalks. All flit, vanish: footfall’s fault.