as slow as spring
I begin to mistrust urgency.
Category Archives: Places
roused by silence
Apparently, without cause, there was effect.
Windows – 6 (A return of sorts)
I wonder how these first impressions will deepen… again… to become fuller and more important to me as our intimacy grows, the greatest beauties and surprises in relationship those that are watered by time, fed by love and loss, and remembered in a few quick lines.
Longe das planícies
Did I miss the ripening fields: no
Instead, there was a trail led out of town
It may be that, in the beginning, there was intimation of the end: certainly one point connected to another, even by the crooked line of time, share an intimacy as close as any two lovers, perhaps closer.
echo
“Shh!” All five fingers of the right hand spread wide, the first touching the lips, the hand a stop sign, the fingers stretched rigid, the hand surprised, the fingers an echo of surprise. Meanwhile, with the left, she reached over and unplugged the radio.
first-light
They leaned into each other as the warming first-light leaned against their window, leaned into their room, over the bed, let its weight drape gently on their limbs, whispering Good Things that neither would remember when they woke.
my reflection in the photograph
Several years ago I was “improving” my photo collection, which had become a wobbling tower of kodachrome, balanced precariously
columns
One pillar was just within reach. Stretching her hand, the tips of her fingers ran over the smooth and the rough of the mosaic surface…
Rue
I turned to face the evening: she was there. Her arms a circle, cool November: mist. The light a fallen curtain; and her hair, a silken flicker turned to mask her face.
Sambamaré
O coração baía aberto ao maré as águas vêm as águas vão prá onde eu não sei Chegam de tempestade ao suspiro elas vão escrevem nomes na areia que as ondas apagarão … instrumental Correnteza agridoce pôs tesouros à beira-mar que beleza me traz sorriso despedida me faz chorar Correnteza agridoce faz tesouros aterrisar que …
Windows – 3
Lonny was the product of big energy and tiny town, where the limitations imposed by three square blocks of homes — an Alcatraz adrift on an ocean of unswimmable wheat — fueled the kind of incendiary pressure that could only come out wrong. Even back then, when I was eight and Lonny was nine, his …