prayer
like
sparks.
Sister Winter
… But my heart is
Returned to sister winter
But my hands are
As cold as ice …
Waking up to spring
“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like?”…
“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine…”
― Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
The light in the leaves
“Oh, look how beautiful the sun is shining through the trees!” I said, drunk on the last golden light of evening glowing through the golden leaves of the ginko trees.
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Garden tales
I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden. — Ruth Stout It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. — Charles Dickens In the…
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come to dust
Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to…
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maidens drowned
There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
the dryness and the rain
after completing messes of men, the first part of my photography project inspired by mewithoutYou’s brother, sister, cranking the second part out was surprisingly easy. as part of this shoot i learned about betta fish and discovered just how many things cockle burrs can latch onto. [and how cold 40-degree weather can be — thanks…
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messes of men
i’ve talked before about my love for mewithoutYou’s album brother, sister, and my desire to “illustrate” it, so to speak, through photography and other media. a desire four or five years in the making finally got off the ground last march when i did two shoots based on “messes of men,” the first song on…
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prayer like sparks
purslane
in spring the purslane
pops up underfoot
corrugated
in winter the cold
corrugates the soul, crumpling
it up like paper
little sister
february turns up soft and
delicate
a time, a time
there is a time to keep,
and a time to throw away:
theatre programs
ticket stubs
dead plants
math tests
little paper houses
in a shoebox somewhere in the closet
are the little paper houses
my glamorous great-aunt
gave my grandma for Christmas
(untitled)
despite my best intentions
how quickly i forget You
don’t liken a lichen
don’t liken a lichen
to a room like a kitchen
unless stonehenge is a mere pile of stones
good and real
i was trying to proceed sensibly
to live logically
to hold tight to what is
good and real
foreliving
in frozen january
i catch myself
longing for spring