I can work for dimes,
I am as swift as a centaur
with a bow; I can read the skies—
I know when it will rain or snow.
I will ride through the streets
and drop newspapers before people awake,
at their oblique doors.
Maple Tree Angel
I lift the curse over you
of blistered feet and bruised shins,
of the tiredness that makes women fall
down in a dead faint.