«Chacun de tes vers est comme une coupe de poison, / Comme la vie consumée par le péché, / Et ton vers, malgré moi, / Emplit de son souffle mes poumons. / / Tu es un pauvre garçon plein de déraison, / Rapportant de quelques funérailles blanches, / Au festin de tes compagnons, / ...»
«Here's our table set for six, / Roses, crystal gloss. / And among the guests, amiss, / There are grief and loss. Here comes father from the past, / Brother from the war. / Hours pass. We hear, at last, / Knocking at the door... And her hand is just as cold / As 'twas twelve years bac...»
«Do I need excuses / For divine mismatching? — / Poetry and music / Aren't cure-all magic. And why hum insanely / Tunes and verses hopeless? / Having nothing saintly / Feels more fun and homeless. And our gain is pretty / Minuscule and fleeting — / Only heartfelt pity, / So th...»
«T. O.-T. My evening, silver-feathered, / All-consecrating light! / As if no longer present, / I turn to you my sight – With gratefulness: for every / Revitalizing breath, / That in my final craving / You granted to my breast, For every elevation / Of your becalming hand, / For a...»