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It is cruel, this business of exile and divorce. I will not deny it.

Our cocoa is gone and our dreams are being eaten by mice.

The waves have heard of you. How you caress, how you kiss.

Noelle, somewhere symphony number two listens to you breathing.

She possessed a quality that made one forget all shortcomings.

I feel as if I have been struck from the book of the living.

I think there was a center about which I never even thought to ask.

Why do you keep so much from your husband, don’t you trust him?

Her mother always complained Sara was different after a night at Judy’s.

It’s the human genius of reproducing not quite exactly.

He tried to regain that moment of grace, but there was no conjuring it.

What I want is a woman who knows all the meanings of indulgence.

Unnatural as a ghost; the thought rose unbidden to his mind.

His spirit shone fiercely, shaming the chasm by illuminating it.

Her anger was white and cold. It sent seams of ice through my heart.

Hard to know what a prisoner believes, what the guard presumes.

I wonder why I feel bound to the gray-dry skin of you, the barrenness of feet.

All of those feelings—you do not have them, they have you.

A scene from the night before comes rushing forward like a dream.

He loathed them most, despising their desire to get on with things.

A family becomes fossilized—a darker crosshatch etched in hard sand.

You came to me in a hanbok dream, fluttering as it flew in.

The canary-yellow sweater she knit while pregnant with me thawed first.

She has a small solid mess of troubles she longs to upchuck.

Pummel nests from limbs and drown the furred things in their dens.

I peel back the hours and search for the light before it scatters.

Having held down the past applying pressure to its sacrum . . .

Some people are so beautiful, they belong everywhere they go.

You’ve trained me well in the art of intimate distance. It’s not been easy.