Two dark birds in a dark love
Perch on the rim of a basket
Made by man, a basket filled
With a dark emptiness
Crossed by cedar shadows,
But these dark birds fly
Up to a dark tree with dark figs,
And dance on dark wood.

A Poem for Daphne, No. 135

An abandoned bath tub
Sits on its paws among weeds,
Rust turning its skin gold.

A red blurred pepper quivers
From the dark hips of a bush
And smiles at me.