In this entry from Songs and Letters, I wrote about my growing-up place as it was — or, perhaps more accurately, as I was, and am, except for a thousand changes mean and profound, down to the sound of my voice and the rhythm of my worn out shoes. . Highway 99, San Joaquin Valley, California In the old times, before roads and barns and dams and ditches, a giant […]
What shadows are,spirits divine; your hand, their breath,once mine. Recently Banned Literature, June 23, 2014 Canvas 350January 15, 2014 . [ 980 ]
One habit to the next without rest, each with its pretty colored shell — see them on the mantelpiece, and there upon your brow — but when you thirst, love, oh! — seek a deeper well! “When You Thirst” Recently Banned Literature, January 7, 2018 . One Minute, Two, a Lifetime, the World I think one of the most revolutionary, transformative acts we can undertake, is to set aside a […]
The sound of rain. The blessèd certainty of it — think as I will, believe as I will, act as I will, the rain will fall on my grave, and that is a blessing too: a blessing to the stone, should I have one, a blessing to the soft green grass that grows over me. And for an epitaph, these two words will do: Listening. Still. May they describe you. […]
The physical world is a library of symbols.I read like a hummingbird, a ghost, a troubadour. January 5, 2021 . [ 977 ]
A handful of sweet, raw almonds — have you seen a tree in bloom, her soft pink gown alive with pollen and a divinity of bees — and then — after the wedding — the velvet snow around her feet? . [ 976 ]
Of this window, two things, knowing they are one: your breath on icy glass, bright spirits as they pass. “Of This Window” Recently Banned Literature, January 4, 2016 . To Live in Such a Way To live in such a way as not to break this sweet silence. Cherub on a limb. Fluffy wren. Snowflake. Winterwake. If you ask her where she’s been, she will sing again. Make that your […]
before / after / the wind / no wind January 2, 2021 Canvas 503January 2, 2015 . [ 974 ]
Your face is calendar enough for me, the lines, the seasons — what need of dates, where light and touch and grace agree? January 1, 2021 . Snow Lessons To write with the breath, to draw without touching a thing. Are these not snow lessons, and the patient teachings of steam? You say, This pen. This page. These keys. How can I not touch them? And from deep inside comes […]
I wonder now, was that a doily on her armchair, or a snowflake on the dollhouse of a long-dead child? Recently Banned Literature, May 26, 2014 . [ 972 ]
William Michaelian 