Amy Blythe. In Exile.

IN EXILE

after In der Fremde by Heinrich Heine

I once had a place to call my own,
I went there for the peace,
to see the crawl of the trees
and watch flowers grow for me.
It was a dream.

But it touched me as if it were mine,
spoke to me as if I owned it,
loved as if it were real
and brought breath for me.

It was a dream.

Remembering that time we gathered and published a collection of Worksongs for the Apocalypse. Thank you, everyone w… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 2 years ago
RT @splitlipthemag: Hey friends! If you can't afford the $10 entry fee for our poetry contest, we'll have 13 FREE ENTRIES available on our… 3 years ago
RT @katkadav: Such a great idea & opportunity from Sundress Pub twitter.com/SundressPub/st… 3 years ago
@Vanessid Just had this conversation with a colleague today. 3 years ago
RT @MaxDunbar1: The princess is in another castle: finally there is a Beckett video game (@3ammagazine) 3ammagazine.com/3am/beckett-vi… 3 years ago
@sslonewriter I would welcome this kind of reach-back from writers. 3 years ago
@akmiska Looks wonderful! 3 years ago
"How could the body be an accident? * Heat. You started to seek it. The urge is a missile." (love this essay) t.co/Au0uzxhS5D 3 years ago
@mylesdoespoems the rustling reeds along the shoreline of every river I've loved, and that's all of them, feet and… twitter.com/i/web/status/1… 3 years ago
@akmiska but the guy most likely said it way without the g 3 years ago