Daisy’s murmur

got done

at once

twilight between them

as for Tom

single green light

just twice in my life

ice and mineral water

gas blue with lavender beads

on the edge of a great table

graceless circles

old sport

broken sobs

slow black rivulets

a long duster

the amputated wheel

surviving the laughter

felt it in others

a man named Cliff Springer came

if I ever knew it

he had little to say

worn so threadbare

one hundred-thirty men with sixteen Lewis guns

loafing in an archway

from the Queensboro Bridge

the flat-nosed Jew

dressed in white

in four private cars

without so much as a shiver

later in Deauville

crickets on the grass

who is Tom

in a silver shirt

a strained counterfeit

red cheeks

volatile, inaccurate

those bare rooms

not by nature

what trace

a little rewarded