While black-spruce gravely holds council,
a grayish crescent haunts the blue,
I'm gathering the thread of courage,
winding a fine, elusive skein.
Wild-flowers pressed between pages,
strange lyrics and music beckon.
My life, a cautionary tale,
a heart held in a vice, a song
for my sisters and the voiceless,
the unheard, unloved, un-caressed,
broken bodies marked by moon-runes,
Chinook wraps their longings in silk.
A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...
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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...
Alexander Scriabin: the Poem of Ecstasy (English translation by Faubion Bowers) (See the original here .) Spirit, Winged with the...
What left knew how to return. How happy the time when, if a path disappeared, we knew it was only because there was no reason to go onward,...