One day, at a very early age, I reached the conclusion that I would live forever. I remember saying to myself on that occasion, in all simple certainty, I cannot die. It was a revelation, not a plea, one which arose not from long deliberation or fear, but from the earth itself, and seemed to emanate from the palm of my upheld hand. This startling new truth was borne out […]
It isn’t a matter of using the day, but of finding a way to express one’s gratitude. Or it might be a matter of finding one’s gratitude and expressing the way. * Junco bathing in a puddle — sunlight-celebration. * Death is the poet’s last poem. Life is the page it’s written on. * The body ages like a star. The mind is its light, seen from afar. * Joy […]
My life is a slow sentence — written in faith and served with relish. . [ 1657 ]
Sometimes I feel I could live to be a very old man. Sometimes I feel I already have. Sometimes I feel the end is near, as it always has been. Sometimes I feel quite young, a boy laughing where the spirit is. . [ 1647 ]
This old body is going through some changes this winter. It reminds me of cracking walnuts with my father during the long cold evenings. He was a boy, and I was at least a hundred and ten, when, crack! The outside was in, and the inside was out again. . [ 1640 ]
’t is a conscious winter, when the rain is bright and the stars go out . [ 1639 ]
a leaf on the ground / lines on her face / an old man with faith in his cane . [ 1580 ]
This body in years — sixty-six and more. But do I really know my age? Ask the universe. Look up at the stars. . [ 1578 ]
Mist, fog, smoke — a lonely street light where the town ends and the country begins, dreaming of an affair with the moon — foolish enough — then you smile, so little you’ve changed since your youth. . [ 1577 ]
William Michaelian 