Oh, surprise of fallen snow,
   vigilant, invasive!

My sisters and I don’t usually share grudges but this one we passed between us like a spoon for tasting.

The phrase “the unthinkable is always possible” beats within me, but sticks in my throat. I don’t want to be my mother.

I think a horrible, stupid thought, so it won’t happen. I think it once, and then, usually, it goes away for good.

you wouldn’t call it a miracle—no, that seems too much—
though you’re not sure what other word quite fits.

the almond trees have opened their wounds to the sun,
each blossom an awareness specked with blood.

Later, Tabitha would put things together in a way that she could understand, regardless of the truth—how Henry could both want and fear a certain future.

It is sometimes difficult with poets, especially with Auden, to determine whether form or content demands his greater attention—though we begin with the fact that in the best poems they’re inextricable.