Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and let loose the wind in the fields.
Bid the last fruits to be full;
give them another two more southerly days,
press them to ripeness, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now will not build one
anymore.
Whoever is alone now will remain so for a long
time,
will stay up, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, up and down,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
Rilke
20 hours ago
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1 note
The steady time of being unknown,
in solitude, without friends,
is not a steadiness that sustains.
I hear your voice waver on the phone:
Haven’t talked to anyone for days.
I drive around, I sit in parking lots.
The voice zeroes through my ear, and waits.
What should I say? There are ways
to meet people you will want to love?
I know of none. You come out stronger
having gone through this? I no longer
believe that, if I once did. Consider a move,
a change, a job, a new place to live,
some place you’d like to be. That’s not it,
you say. Now time curves back. We almost touch.
Then what is? I ask. What is?
Michael Ryan
1 week ago
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0 notes
I process in haiku.
1. Give me daily bread,
but do not give me too much,
or I won’t hunger.
2. Descarte existed
only because he doubted.
Should I doubt his doubting?
3. Thomas Merton claimed
no man is an island.
I am Alaska.
4. It’s like finding a
bug in your backpack when you’re
in Antarctica.
(Leah Samuelson, on familiar pieces of art)
5. Fall has come at last.
Leaves are thrown down under boots;
I am their crier.
6. Oh the great good luck
of being alive today.
I am so lucky.
1 week ago
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1 note