.
Before they ripen into diffused spirits
angels are leaf-stalks
and their wings begonia leaves
with dark surfaces
and red glitterings within.
Slowly, very slowly, they emerge out of the flower-pot
of the body,
take on the face of Bill or Bob,
pierce through the cool bower
of the world and ascend like the promise
of a harmonious end;
on their lips shine
the last bubbles of our breathing,
those droplets
of our unrelieved loneliness.
.
~ Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke
I don’t know any longer whether I’m living or remembering. —Albert Camus
-
. One old man keeps humming the same few notesof some song he thought he
had forgottenback in the days when as he knows there wasno word for life in
the l...
5 hours ago