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homo homini lupus est

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drink me

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the wasteland

“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

the archive

June 2023
February 2023
December 2022
November 2022
September 2022
June 2022
May 2022
December 2021
September 2021
August 2021
July 2021
June 2021
May 2021
April 2021
March 2021
August 2020
July 2020
June 2020
April 2020
March 2020
January 2020
July 2019

marina

This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter.

burnt norton

And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.

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