Canvas 506 — When Thorns Become Stars
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Tag Archive for ‘Love’
Winter Bath
See how she braids her rivers still — doesn’t know, doesn’t care who sees her — doesn’t come, doesn’t go, doesn’t fear — has no need of any mirror or calendar — and see how the sun bends low to please her, warms the soft green moss on her back . . . [ 622 ]
Trade Policy
The symbol strikes me every time I see him — the homeless man with his hand out, under the light at the corner of Commercial and Division. December 22, 2019 Trade Policy If I have something you need and more of it than I can use; and if you have something I need and more of it than you can use; then let us simply give the excess to […]
After the Bath
Maybe it’s not a question of whether, where, or when the flesh and the imagination meet, but how long it’s been since you’ve joined them. After the Bath you draw with your fingertip on warm naked skin and then call the poem a rose Recently Banned Literature, December 30, 3016 [ 604 ]
Tiny Bird High
A light rain . . . tiny bird high in the branches of the western juniper . . . they are as joyfully necessary to each other as they are to me . . . and perhaps, just perhaps, as I am to them . . . including the rain. It’s easy to hug someone you love. But did you know that if you hug someone you don’t love, love […]
Of All the Blues
I rarely think of things as being themselves alone — a year a year, a man a man, a word a word, a poem a poem — a love a love, a moan a moan. Of All the Blues Of all the blues that grace this world, I love gray the best — dream-blue, rain-blue, a lake blue by gray-night coming to dawn, eye-blue, flight-blue, name-blue graying gray alone […]
I Am Redeemed
I would rather spend the day in a country graveyard than in a shopping mall. Is that so strange? I would rather handle old books and antiques than plastic merchandise. Does that make me odd? Is it obsolete to think the finest jewels are raindrops hanging from a naked limb? And that if there ever was, is, or will be a god, she is here to love me back again? […]
Canvas 1,245 — The Quest
If I have any wish or dream at all, it is to know at death what I knew when I was born; the quest is love; the rest is now. December 2, 2019 [ 588 ]
Given
A winter afternoon spent trying this word and that word and erasing them both, until the room I am in is given to darkness — even death agrees — if not with the method, then at least with the progress. Given Suddenly a ripe plum and how her sweet flesh aches in the mouth in memory of melted snow running down a country road [ 587 ]
By the Falling Star
When you see young children living and working their beautiful miracles, do you smile and say, They are something at that age, or, We are something at that age? They, or we — the difference, I think, is a great one, and tells much about you. The same might be asked of how you view those who are far ahead of you in years. Because the very young and the […]
William Michaelian 