«Brow — / Snows. / White — / Coffin glows. Intones / the deacon. / Arrow lit / Beacon — Nave — / grave. / Consecration! / Vault — cessation. Apparition — / Hell's perdition!»
«Please search for me in rays through spring leaves sweeping. / I am a bell, a brook, a sun spot sitting still. / I am the wings, elf-like, in twilight fleeting. / They wave. They were. They touched your window sill. Eternal friend, no farewell, no parting! / D'you hear? I'm here. Your han...»
«Snowflakes. Sundown. Fog covered silhouettes. / Roofs like the crests of the sea. / Strange drifts of ocher and rose, a-mellowing, / Atop cupolas they flee. Quiet. So quietly, sadly, and peacefully, / Lights look through windows at me... / Bells ring-a-ling, I imbibe sounds blissfully... ...»
«I sit in my room round and tiny / Awashed by the light from above, / Look up at the stuccoed skyline / Dawn-dusked by a sixty watt sun. My things, lit as well, they surround me: / The chairs, the table, the bed. / I pause, hands confused, where to hide them? / My thoughts race, unravel ...»