Setting
Set forth.
Set about your heart.
Set apart your heart.
Set aside your heart.
Set your heart down on the table.
Set the prisoner at liberty.
Set your love into the ground among the red roots.
Set your broken heart into a cast. Don’t walk on it for weeks.
Set the sails.
Set the time.
Set the rules.
Set everything in something else’s place.
Set the alarm to midnight or noon.
Set a place for the guest. Sprinkle thorns across the plate.
Set the words into lead into ink into paper. Wash your hands. Do not touch your own face or wrists or elbows--anywhere
the skin thins.
Set this to music.
Set the stage.
Set the scene among some hills, among trees, among miles of stones— anywhere along the shoreline: this is your body.
Set the day.
Set the gulls to cleaning.
Set guards.
Set the inland hills against each other.
Set a good example for the leaves.
Set your own brow with emeralds, with river stones, with bees.
Set everything you carry there. Just there. By that tidal pool.
Set a great store by how many shades of green you can name.
Set the cost at nothing, or three.
Set the value at three rivers, three houses, three waves, three stories.
Set your seeds.
Set a trap.
Set the hook.
Set the sun down below the last line.
Set until you harden into your own last line.
Set until you can neither bleed, nor fade.
Set your bones so they knit.
Set a time, then.
Set these instructions: Match the set of your spine to that of the willow. Follow the setting of the sun beyond
the last line.
Be dead set against both rush and ebb.
