Nº. 1 of  109

o wayward star

"She did not speak for she had no speech
She was a mermaid who had lost her way
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears
Her eyes were the color of distant love."

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

—Derek Walcott (via largerloves)

(via an-itinerant-poet)

aseaofquotes:

Claire Messud, The Woman Upstairs
Submitted by london-in-the-rain.

aseaofquotes:

Claire Messud, The Woman Upstairs

Submitted by .

metaphorformetaphor:

I began to forget [her] as I wrote, erasing
every word [she] said with a long wave of
ink that drowned the sound of [her] voice
and washed away all traces
of [her] hands.

It was as if I was wrapping [her] up in a word
and sending the package somewhere far away,
as if I was losing claim to [her]…

(Source: apoetreflects)

fluttering-slips:

CAVALIER

         for Lynn

Just think of me whispering
A small, tender thing,

Or something quite beyond our limit,
But in an intimate ring.

Just think it, don’t say it.
Merely fold it into your mind.

A thing not fully possessed, perhaps,
But never left behind.



Michael Cavanagh

metaphorformetaphor:

[…] you vowed before
the god of all lost loves
that you would never take
that road again, that you
would take that road never
again, that you would take never
that road again.     
                               Halfway down
the road, you kept repeating that.


Samuel Hazo, from “Don Juan’s Dream of Near and Far Misses,” And the Time Is: Poems, 1958-2013 (Syracuse University Press, 2014)

(via a-pair-of-ragged-claws)

Between us the wind
is a word seeking a shape

Dave Smith, from “In the Yard, Late Summer,” in Goshawk, Antelope (University of Illinois Press, 1970)

(Source: apoetreflects, via songnsilence)

alejandravidalolmos:

Toshiyuki Enoki Illustration

alejandravidalolmos:

Toshiyuki Enoki Illustration

(via songnsilence)

Nº. 1 of  109