But that day, in the city with Muriel, their words and laughter muffled by scarves and coat collars, it had made her recall seeing a striking man on Charles Street years before—an elegant camel hair coat and trimmed moustache.
Geography
The town we were leaving, Andes, is quiet and lonely, ruled by landscape—a meadowed and mountain-ed paradise where the sunset turned the mountains red so that winter-time walks with my dogs sometimes felt like a baptism by bloody light.
Mrs. God (and other poems)
Suckling at the clouds is not her business./
She is the drool the dog drops.