«Hatred! A special added taste to the soup. / The soup’s just soup. Simple stock really, / but with a pinch of salt or pepper / from the heart that hates in vain. Hatred makes the bed, / hatred corrects the notebook, / sweeps the floor and wipes away the dust: / and never lets you out ...»
«Husbands with their doings and nerves, / sense of duty and sense of guilt, / ought to die first, first, / they ought not die second* Wives ought to grow old little by little / reaching even hundred-year limits, / on rare occasions, but over and over again / remembering their husbands. ...»
«People don’t laugh at funerals, / except maybe in their hearts. / For as long as the speeches are ringing out, / breathe evenly. And measure against veracity / the tears or the praise, / knowing that justice / is quietly waiting in the comer.»
«Talk is hushed. I tread the boards. / Leaning on the post of the door, / Distantly I catch the stir / Of what’s happening in this age. Darkly night admonishes / With a thousand lenses trained. / Abba Father, if Thou wouldst, / Bear this chalice past my lips. I adore Thy strict design...»