God have pity on the smell of gasolinewhich finds its way like an armthrough a car window,more human than kerosene,more unctuous, more manly.

My heart is small, like a love of buttons or black pepper.

For a moment the radio wavered between stationsand I was so busymaking myself marvelous.

I might walk vast expansesof earth and always be beginningand I love beginningor could learnto love it.