Textposts

“They would, of course, have breakfast brought to them in bed, like proper princesses, on a sumptuous tray: Crisp toast, the milky luster of frail china, water just off the boil for the orange flower tea.”

“May peace and peace and peace be everywhere.”

A caress of color, warmth, a hammock of suave harmonies, a honeyed womb, a palanquin of silk.

In September summertime ends, floats away on little puffs of milkweed, and the mindless geese will fly over the trees so crowded with leaves that we cannot see the geese but only hear them in their chaos of communication; they come and go, come and go, dragging their invisible net over the land, gathering the last scraps of summer, scattering the first olive-green leaves among the returning finches until you cannot tell finch from leaf, leaf from finch.

I drank your language like tea: Chinese