The Ghost in You
How strange — I feel cold, almost as if I were alive. “That, my friend, is the ghost in you.” Songs and Letters, September 30, 2008 [ 828 ]
Canvas 419 — I Wonder
I Wonder After a long absence, they began to fear for him, and so they sought him in the cave where he sometimes slept. He was not there; but they found a striking image of him which seemed to have etched itself onto one of the walls, where at certain times of the year water would seep through and trickle down. They gazed upon the image for a long […]
Closing Time
Even if I could remember what was passing through my mind when I was writing this poem thirteen years ago, how important could it be? Stumbling on it today, I’m simply glad that it is a poem; and I’m glad it’s still willing to speak to me. And what does it say? It says, Come in, come in. Whatever it is, whatever it was, is all forgotten and forgiven now. […]
Mimosa
It was early in the morning on the last day of July — yesterday, in fact — that I noticed the scent of dried and drying grasses in the air, of ripening and spent seed — that distinct valley smell, leavened by dew and blent with the dust of harvested fields. That same day, a few hours later, we decided that the unidentified seedling in our cedar-and-juniper wilderness might well […]
Likewise
little grasshopper my thoughts lead nowhere oh! you have such pretty wings! [ 823 ]
In the Language
We hear it said that words are symbols, as if in a sense they were lined up on one side, with reality on the other, and us in between — dirty things tainted by their own meanings, useful as a daily sort of common currency, but basically crippled as a means of expressing life in its great profundity and mystery, which are best trusted to silence. This is very much […]
Expected to Know
This is a Wednesday that feels so much like a Friday, one is sure Sunday is near. But what if I’d never seen a calendar, and had no idea what they were? What if I didn’t know names had been given to the days of the week? For me there would be no week, no month, no year, only seasons. There would be the kind that are short, which pass […]
Mercy
Somewhere, between halo and head, The sky peeks in, And — Oh! it says, how sad. [ 820 ]
A Dance of Light and a Shiver Through
A few years ago we brought home a stained-glass birdbath to hang in the backyard. It’s shallow and about the size of a small dinner plate, and though it has since become somewhat discolored, it’s still pretty with the light shining through it and onto the ivy below. I keep it full and fresh through the warm part of the year, then take it down late in the fall. Whenever […]
William Michaelian 
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