Monday, April 04, 2016

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Home

These four walls compose the grace of still life:
a boy nuzzling a gray tabby cat,
a chair, favorite books, a piano,
the translucent leaf of an angel-wing begonia.

They do not account for the flighty senses
that swoop from skin to branch to sky like larks,
nor do they speak of the wildest delights,
those un-fathomed as the call of the sea.







2 comments:

bluestorm said...

as simple, as multifold. thank you!

Iulia Flame said...

and you :)

En plein air - in memoriam Andrew Bellon

A dreamless sleep falls from the shimmering leaves. --Sappho fragment, tr. Andrew Bellon I changed, thickened, ...

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