these are the days
one of those nights when you wish you had the secret blog. sometimes it feels like it used to be different, and like it has changed and will never go back. yes, then once. after you've spent all day crying about how sweet things were. and you spend too much time wishing.
somebody whip out the poetry. i'll take anne michaels or mark strand or li-young lee, or theodore roethke. oh wait, that's my job.
anyway. i got about 200 entries through the archives. long, boring, but progress. the really old stuff will be after that.
i'll be ready to work again in a week or two.
how's that for a non-sequiter. yes, well. time for bed.
Comments
Even this late it happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.
- Mark Strand
you don't have to do ALL the work around here.
Posted by: Sarah | July 31, 2004 07:38 AM
you are the best. i laughed aloud with glee when i saw your comment. most excellent.
Posted by: rosebaby | August 1, 2004 08:06 AM