Once I was young, and walked a flowery way;
A greenhouse is its own eternity.
Form is a father: when I looked for form,
I found a leaf, and on the leaf a worm.
Whose lips dare speak? I fear the cold Therefore
And pass, unfeeling, at a feeling’s grave:
A child died here. I was that likely child.
Now I must go beyond:
Who else knows where I am? I’m
A fish lurking close to a boat, a child holding the net,
I live through my black tears, a child of light.
HOMESCHOOLING MOTHER OF 5, ALL THINGS DOMESTIC, MY CRAZY LIFE
Book Recommendations and Reviews
poems, and the poet who poems them
(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction
It's always about writing...
Author of Angels & Adultery
"Traveling MarLa"
Writing about reading
Writer * Reader * Editor
The website of fiction writer Anthony Martin
The Year of Living Deeply
Corey Mesler
polyaesthetically being in the world...
Just another WordPress.com site
(The poetry blog of Grant Clauser)
Just another WordPress.com site
a roominghouse for the servants of the duende
Leave a Reply