Arriving at the far end of the day the passengers who had not stepped from the train composed their books and closed their eyes and sighed: we have arrived. as quickly as our sight is shuttered the blank horizon of the mind is lit as though a sky inside, through sudden sunset brightens with those …
The inuksuit born of the weight in our hands as stone after stone they choose to stand their lives take form in the foundry of the heart they rise and arise on the bank of the fjord to wait in the wind for the one who returns they speak without speaking but when? but when? lighthouse …
I. Our Daily Dance The waning moon has this hour turned above the crowns of trees, and spilled its liquid light into the yard. So this evening is accompanied by a shadow of sun's heat. The same moon that years and years ago was torn from earth's belly, born from her and borne away …
Flying out of the east in splendor the silver beauty of the wings, oh beauty poised and driving like twin knives, and all those migratory lives depending, as it happened, on the magic of rivets and steel webs and pilots immune to fear — so be …
Certas canções – Milton Nascimento Certas canções que ouço cabem tão dentro de mim que perguntar carece como não fui eu que fiz? Certa emoção me alcança corta-me a alma sem dor certas canções me chegam como se fosse o amor Contos da água e do fogo cacos de vidas no chão cartas do sonho …
Nick Van Alstine, 1982-2010 There's a shout from the water: a man is struggling with the current, his mouth fills as he goes under. He clears the surface, spits out salt, finds clean air, gasps it in, shouts again. He is drowning. He knows it. His voice leans out in all directions, asks …
uma palavra balançou na ponta da língua falada, calada, falada, calada batuque rítmo de coração será que este por do sol seja à medida do seu nascer? o menino enraizado só (arvore-gurí, criança-flor) se sente o peso diferente nas almas dos seus pés; de cima, entretanto sol é sol até o día em que sangue …
Plum was heaven Plum was stem Until the season’s turn And early rain’s intention Until the bud’s desire Until the blossom-burst Until bee pollen-scattering And Sun’s divine attention The fruit imagination Until its flesh uncovered Until its curve encountered The touch of tongue and teeth Until the sweet surrender Its sugar-water tendered …
Maybe it was – seems long ago – I danced on a flickering flame so my feet would burn if I stood my ground and another tongue, insistent, called my name I'd lean into tomorrow as though I were bound to the wind Where does an echo lead? I heard a sound, I turned; again; the globe as it spun …
Here’s the canvas of the heart: streaked with tears, warm rain that melts before it reaches skin, the ice it was contained within undone by sun.
the eyes are a chamber of the heart and the lips and tongue, a chamber of the heart the fingertips and skin are a chamber of the heart the sense of smell is a chamber of the heart and the ears are a chamber of the heart so near enough to see you to taste …
we decorate our lives: with loves contrived of scent and sweat and secrecy and grateful dancing, toward and away; the rocking cradle of the heart beats and buoys the body’s arc that ripens, rises, tires and moves on its flower opens and opens when the water pulsing through its vein urges the petals wide to …