Index of First Lines
A presence tinges my remembering
A voice across the air
Absence all around the common
‘Always the Jew was treated
Apparent perfection is
At the time I knew I’d lost it
Before the entrance is the pleasure-
Cross the lines of a life
Death is a circle reduced
Don’t ask what I’ve been doing all the time
Down Grey Street, and Dean Street
Each waits for the other to come near
Early afternoon, back end of summer
Edging the meridian
Emma, what is in a name?
Everything in his life
Flying west has dislocated me
For me, although not for him
Found in the distances of childhood
Freeing the line it makes
From the window index of first lines
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