he will return, for a time, to his home, and i will remain in mine. i imagine all the heralds of his homecoming, how even the architecture will announce his arrival. with what gratitude he will meet the impractically high ceilings; the baroque balconies; the weight of windowsills, scattered with greenery; the windows themselves ineffably tall. ( Read more... )

a tepid in-between season, swollen with snowmelt, made pale by sunlight and paler still by dusk. in a world of one color, gray trees stretch tediously toward gray sky ( Read more... )

a thin snow fell without sound, silhouetted against the black shadows of trees in the fragile light of dusk. the landscape whitened, became more plain. the rising moon, too, was thin. in this way, we were lulled to sleep ( Read more... )

i want to cover my skin with fallen leaves, their vibrancy and thinness, their bitter ink. i have never before been so heartbroken by the trees. how little i have noticed them, until at last i realize that i am not attentive enough for the brevity of their splendor nor intimate enough for the pale, leafless bodies they unclothe. let us, then, ( Read more... )

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why have we abandoned the canon of consecrated architecture? the venerated "beautiful corners" of homes, altars lit with prayer lamps, curtains closed over the inviolable eyes of saints. each room a sanctuary. the balanced proportions of archways, the propitious height of doors. the auspicious and holy cardinal directions. (how else to orient ( Read more... )

two days after the solstice, i want to know which fruits are ripening. the sidewalks outside our home are scattered with inedible berries, their futile evolution from blossoms crushed underfoot. (an overabundance of green and fecundity.) the days are torrid and long, heavy, the air seductive with pollen and languor. the heat of another body ( Read more... )

the last snow of the year fell yesterday in the afternoon, barely perceptible. an evanescent farewell flurry. with such gentleness, these departures, modest and pale-grey as march ( Read more... )

we expected one joy, but another came. with such reluctance did we abandon the love that is blessed deepest by loss, that heroic love, arduous as martyrdom and as glorious. the love of austerity and expulsions, of resurrections, our secret passions kept like seeds under our tongues. with such foolishness did we insist on tumult and strife, on ( Read more... )

the end of a year in which there was one snowfall; the end of the year in which we married. the year in which four scarcely noticed seasons recorded a single solemn poem of departure. outside, the melting snow ( Read more... )