12.21.14

branches, like an alphabet,  arrange themselves endlessly  across a blank page of sky, while the wind works its way through all possible utterance. how your eyes love a surprise, say to you on your winter-walk: 'see, we were made  for just this kind of happiness.'

branches, like an alphabet,
arrange themselves endlessly
across a blank page of sky,
while the wind works its way
through all possible utterance.
how your eyes love a surprise,
say to you on your winter-walk:
‘see, we were made
for just this kind of happiness.’

kf | Cross Street, Bethlehem, NH

O, if I could breathe in light I would that each whisper would flicker with the brightness some call hope, every call and wail surged forth by exhale would beckon like a beacon urging some kind of keeping on; or my holding of breath could be seen, the only reasonable means of staying safe  in the deep crevasse of night.

O, if I could breathe in light
I would
that each whisper would flicker
with the brightness some call hope,
every call and wail
surged forth by exhale
would beckon like a beacon
urging some kind of keeping
on; or
my holding
of breath could be seen,
the only reasonable means
of staying safe
in the deep crevasse of night.

location

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