As sure is pure is sour honey. As fine as grape is wine. As must is dust is dust as fine. As ash as flash is light to pass. As red as rose and ink is pose. As rain above is love below. As if as all one needs to know. As mine and yours as time. . [ 1753 ]
I used to have a printer, and reams of paper on hand. Envelopes and postage stamps. Now I have a cricket in the rhododendron. I have the things I’ve said, and what I thought they meant. But only as I do or don’t remember them. A closet full of books I no longer need or wear. The coat that fit me when I had short beard and hair. Dust enough […]
Warm days, clear nights. The junco babies are frantic with hunger, and keeping both of their parents busy bringing food to the nest. The early-morning watering ceremony continues. Frantic, yes — but when evening comes all grows quiet and the birds sleep through the night, their tiny bodies resting and growing until dawn wakes them again. Circadian perfection will guide them all of their lives, while we torture and punish […]
So many things live only for a day — flowers, insects, rain, and sometimes people — yet see how different, how strange the world would be without them. Love it all. Never look away. To embrace, rather than resist, the ephemeral nature of sharing one’s thoughts online. Helped, and also haunted by, mechanical memory. The neat, efficient archive (see cemetery rows, honeycomb) is for oneself, for the idle many, the […]
A short dream: Without questioning its odd location, I realize that the bookshelf outside on our front step would be more useful inside. There are only a few books on it, while in the house there are enough scattered and stacked about to fill it and more. What strikes me most, though, is the near absence of dust. Why is there so much more dust on the other shelves inside, […]
William Michaelian 