its very unlike me to keep all of myself in one place
so
i am moving -
let me know if you'd like to know where i'll be : )

look homeward, friend

a reminder to myself, to you as well

   

When you are already here

you appear to be only

a name that tells of you

whether you are present or not

and for now it seems as though

you are still summer

still the high familiar

endless summer

yet with a glint

of bronze in the chill mornings

and the late yellow petals

of the mullein fluttering

on the stalks that lean

over their broken

shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know

that you have come

the seed heads of the sage

the whispering birds

with nowhere to hide you

to keep you for later

you

who fly with them

you who are neither

before nor after

you who arrive

with blue plums

that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew

(to the light of September: WS Mervin)

all things hold

: )

to the tune of lilies

if you search "indescribable" on google images, you'd find an abundance of galaxies.

: )

-
and to say that you are funny would be saying like the night sky is black, cause the night sky is filled with stars and comets and planets that no one has seen yet. and i want to look at you, lying down on my front lawn - i’ll try to take you all in at once but you just go on and on and on

(paul baribeau)

despite the damage

after a long good talk with two precious humans over lunch who are known to me by the noblest, yet most underrated name (people ask parents, how many children do you have? and that is a conversation starter. the young ones are mostly, the first on their mind. people do not ask children about their parents.) we found a cafe to sit down for a bit. small exchanges about emails and homework but mostly we sat in silence, and he read his magazine (dad is picking up old hobbies again!) while i did math. a lot was conveyed : )

in between every chapter i allow myself to read poetry, articles, two pages of a book. 

last night's dream was a myriad of places - that i want to surround myself in. a friend sitting cross-legged on the floor of a bookstore with the sun shining over his face and arms, peals of laughter effused from mum, bunsen burners, dancing in the unlikeliest places, mistakes, victories, and my dreamscape was on a whirl, changing and changing and changing until i woke up. when i did it was like a gentle rupture, and i only recalled all these places in the shower. i guess homes of habit just stick in your head (it is not true that one only dreams in bed.) i like how some songs are full of old sentiments. maybe, feelings can be kept. yep.

when we look back

I had no idea that the gate I would step through
to finally enter this world

would be the space my brother's body made. He was
a little taller than me: a young man

but grown, himself by then,
done at twenty-eight, having folded every sheet,

rinsed every glass he would ever rinse under the cold
and running water.

This is what you have been waiting for, he used to say to me.
And I'd say, What?

And he'd say, This -- holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich.
And I'd say, What?

And he'd say, This, sort of looking around.

the gate, marie howe