Canvas 842 — Pictures and Poems
Roll was called. The words lined up in rows. What do you want to be when you grow up? Pictures or poems? Pictures! they cried out. Poems! And from that day on they all were both. [ 528 ]
Archive for October 2019
Canvas 1,243 — Touch
As near as we are to one another, there remain galaxies between us. I call this Touch. [ 527 ]
I left the room. He followed. I poured the coffee. He drank.
I said, What is it that you want? He said, Only what you need in me.
Canvas 1,242 — October 1, 2019
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Canvas 1,242 — Self-Sacrifice
You Must Remember This
A family photograph in which I look like a lost soul, or perhaps a soul that just happens to be visiting a familiar body, as the eye scans a ledger with all its columns filled but one or two, or a star a lonely field, while those around me smile, sure of themselves. It’s October, love. Now tell me how you feel. Like you. You know I do. That’s why […]
Canvas 1,151
If I let go of sorrow, and pain, should I not also be willing to let go of joy? For if I cling, do I not cling to everything? September 27, 2019. The last fine sliver of a waning moon. [ 524 ]
Nothing
Nothing but a ring of sand traced by hand around the ankle. Nothing but a change of weather in the hair. Nothing but a wrist amiss and blind as daytime passion. Nothing but a rising tide . . . a fragrant breath . . . a vision there. September 26, 2019 [ 523 ]
In Light Of
Someone says the bright new mushrooms shine like lanterns by the walk. . . . the moon? In Light Of Twenty-six degrees this morning. I wonder what I would do if I were a star? Shine like the rest of them, I suppose. And perhaps be gone by the time my light is seen in this faraway world. Lantern is a word I love. I wonder how old I […]
Canvas 1,168 — One in the Afternoon
If it can be held, it can also be released. There have been other thoughts today. But I do not remember them. September 24, 2019 [ 521 ]
Joy
Oh, the fall rains! Day and night, mushrooms sprout in tender grass, and crowd my little hut. And look! Here lie my bones! September 23, 2019 [ 520 ]
Dear Ones
If I had not known desperation, could I now know calm? What does the house feel, when it’s pelted with cones? If I had not known fear, could I now know love? What does the house dream, when the sun warms its bones? dahlias in the rain bowed heads weak stems she brings them in [ 519 ]
William Michaelian 