messenger of spring

“My husband is calling me from somewhere upstairs. It sounds as if he is in a hallway. I get interested in my own breath, which doesn’t happen very often. The curtain moves, and I like the way it matches something inside me. But I know that a curtain shouldn’t match me, and that I shouldn’t like it.”

“Today I want to resolve nothing. I only want to walk a little longer in the cold blessing of the rain, and lift my face to it.”

“It was all so good, these blowing quiet October nights…”

I can’t help it. I will never get over making everything such a big deal.

What I’ve learned, time and again: Get up. You cannot have what they have. 

A Hill by Frank O’Hara

“Summer night in love Sigh of honeysuckle scent Moonlight unbuttoned”

GREETINGS FROM NEBRASKA

Now I fold you down, my drunkard, my navigator, my first lost keeper, to love or look at later.

I am tired of worshipping your absence. Many things will kill us in this life, why shouldn’t desire get first dibs.

“how many times will you snap my love like a wishbone? is it sweeter at the marrow?”

What I know of tenderness is what I know of violation, / the restless insect of touch and our end.

The way you knew me is unlike the way anyone else knows me. The person I have always wanted to be is the person I am.  In the very beginning of our love, I had said one of us is a small town hazard.  I am living in a city big enough for everyone’s nightmares, My heart is not just a ticking time bomb, it’s a clock unwinding. It’s the sound on your nightstand.  When we first started drawing maps, we were so careful  with the scale. Somewhere in this mess, I think I drew my own heart too big. I am never going to stretch myself again.  By the time you read this, it won’t be quite as sincere. I love the way you do laundry. If you can wash love out, I hope it has already happened.  Do you think some people can see us for who we are? What happens when they look away?