Think of the storm roaming the sky uneasily like a dog looking for a place to sleep in, listen to it growling.
Little Exercise, p. 41.

From a magician's midnight sleeve the radio-singers distribute all their love songs over the dew-wet lawns.
Late Air, p. 45.

In your next letter I wish you'd say where you are going and what you are doing; how are the plays and after the plays what other pleasures you're pursuing...
Letter to N.Y., p. 80.

Come with the pointed toe of each black shoe trailing a sapphire highlight with a black capeful of butterfly wings and bon-mots, with heaven knows how many angels all riding on the broad black brim of your hat, please come flying.
Invitation to Miss Marianne Moore, p. 82.

The strangest little things happen to you. Your cow eats a "poison grass" and drops dead on the spot. Nobody else's does...