We've not seen each other
for a long time now.
Each day above the stream
I see us arm in arm.
Memory. Painful goodbyes.
If it feels like this now,
What did it feel like then?
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Quotes of the Day
Irish poets, learn your trade, sing whatever is well made, scorn the sort now growing up all out of shape from toe to top
by Sylvia Plath
In sunless air, under pines
Green to the point of blackness, some
Founding father set these lobed, warped stones
To loom in the leaf-filtered gloom
Black as the charred knuckle-bones