Wednesday, March 18, 2009
So much rain
to make the mud again,
and flowers also.
The water which
ran up the sun
and down again,
it is the same.
A man of supple
might, too, discover
ways of water.
:photo via Matilde B.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.
young death sits in a cafe
smiling, a pierce of money held between
his thumb and first finger
(i say "will he buy flowers" to you
and "Death is young
life wears velour trousers
life totters, life has a beard" i
say to you who are silent.--"Do you see
Life? he is there and here,
or that, or this
or nothing or an old man 3 thirds
asleep, on his head
flowers, always crying
to nobody something about les
roses les bluets
will He buy?
Les belles bottes--oh hear
, pas cheres")
and my love slowly answered I think so. But
I think I see someone else
there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death, is slender;
:suggested by this post.
:photo via flickr
Saturday, February 21, 2009
now all the fingers of this tree(darling)have
hands,and all the hands have people;and
more each particular person is(my love)
alive than every world can understand
and now you are and i am now and we're
a mystery which will never happen again,
a miracle which has never happened before--
and shining this our now must come to then
our then shall be some darkness during which
fingers are without hands;and i have no
you:and all trees are(any more than each
leafless)its silent in forevering snow
--but never fear(my own,my beautiful
my blossoming)for also then's until