Monday, January 27, 2014
Moss gathers in lost footsteps,
Silence speaks of tree-time
Counted in sycamore rings.
Delta breeze sweeps in,
Rasping through the drought grass
And a scroll's scorched pages.
A caged river sinks, diminished.
Under a linden, a shadow pair
Flickers verdigris into dark,
As peacock fringes fade
Under a curtain of leaves
And obscurity of verse.
Thirst chants a parched song
And a green moon listens.
Above the 61st parallel, the colors of Autumn mark our parting with the bees, and the last days of real warmth. I had begun to transl...
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Alexander Scriabin: the Poem of Ecstasy (English translation by Faubion Bowers) (See the original here .) Spirit, Winged with the...
There is a song clinging like a drowsy bat to the dingy ceiling of a dungeon, deep within the labyrinthine palace of my memories, a melody...
A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...