“The stars do not blow away as we do.”
— Linda Gregg, from “We Manage Most When We Manage Small,” All of It Singing: New and Selected Poems (Graywolf Press, 2008).

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@bluewillowmoon
“The stars do not blow away as we do.”
— Linda Gregg, from “We Manage Most When We Manage Small,” All of It Singing: New and Selected Poems (Graywolf Press, 2008).

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“Words, English words are full of echoes, of memories, of associations … ; they are so stored with meanings, with memories … They are the wildest, freest, most irresponsible, most unteachable of all things . . ; they hate anything that stamps them with one meaning or confines them to one attitude, for it is their nature to change.”
Virginia Woolf, from “Craftsmanship,” The Death of the Moth (Hogarth Press, 1942)
Thank you @memoryslandscape
“Pleasure . . . The very sound of that word suggests what it means. Pleasuuure, the way the last syllable does not want to leave the mouth, or moves like silt toward a waiting delta, a place that gathers longing, a place where a heart desires to be buried, to be forever touched.”
— Greg Sellers, journal entry, Notes from Neruda’s Ghost, 20 June 2017
(saved from memoryslandscape post)
©imagemm ©Marisa Marko 2016
“Desire is the ocean wave that never quite reaches her body.”
— Greg Sellers, journal entry, Notes from Neruda’s Ghost, 18 April 2018
(saved from memoryslandscape post)

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“I will never give up longing.”
— Linda Gregg, from “Let Birds,” All of It Singing: New and Selected Poems (Graywolf Press, 2008).
“The landscape thinks itself in me and I am its consciousness.”
— Paul Cézanne, quoted in “Lives We Keep Wanting to Know,” Acts of Mind: Conversations with Contemporary Poets, ed. Richard Jackson (University of Alabama Press, 1984)
Azenoire
Natura sonoris
“Night always meant longing—for the woman was moonlight, something that could touch him but he was unable to touch in return.”
— Greg Sellers, journal entry, Notes from Neruda’s Ghost, 24 March 2018
(saved from memoryslandscape post)
“Whatever we loosen from the past, burns in the solvent of memory.”
— David Bergman, from “Urban Renewal, Baltimore,” A New Geography of Poets, eds. Edward Field, Gerald Locklin, Charles Stetler (University of Arkansas Press, 1992)

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This is how deep I was lost,
my darling, in a love so narcotic
I possessed unimpaired splendour
having no other want or wish
— Michael Ondaatje, from “Definition,” The Distance of a Shout: Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2026)
©imagemm ©Marisa Marko 2015
“It arrives all at once tonight,
not as memory, but like a gift
from forgetfulness,
as a desire can wake you.”
— Michael Ondaatje, from “5 A.M.,” The Distance of a Shout: Selected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2026)
Who am I, if not one who listens
for words to stir from the silences they keep?
Love is the ground note; we cannot do
without it or the sorrow of its changes.
— Peter Everwine, from “Aubade in Autumn,” Listening Long and Late: Poems (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2013)
slant of sunlight
on hay-flecked hair
doves flutter too
— Yūgure, 13 June 2026

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“And in the evening when loss seems too great to fill that black empty space between few stars, I wish to disappear into the night’s thin vanishing, try to forget the moon’s gentle need to hold old shadows.”
— Greg Sellers, from “Elegy with a Wedge in Wood,” from an untitled manuscript-in-progress (via memoryslandscape)
silences44, untitled, 2017