“If a street is named for a tree,
it is right that flowers
bloom purple and feel like cats,
that people are leaves drifting
downhill in morning fog.Everyone came outside to see
the moon setting like a perfect
orange mouth tipped up to heaven.Now the cars sleep against curbs.
If I write a letter,
how will I make it long enough?There is a place to stand
”
where you can see so many lights
you forget you are one of them.
May 20, 2009, 10:01am
when others were asleep, I found these words and put them together by their appetites and respect for each other. In stillness, they jostled. They traded meanings while pretending to have only one.”
January 17, 2009, 10:34am
I would not have been a poet
except that I have been in love
alive in this mortal world,
or an essayist except that I
have been bewildered and afraid,
or a storyteller had I not heard
stories passing to me through the air,
or a writer at all except
I have been wakeful at night
and words have come to me
out of their deep caves
needing to be remembered.
— from VII by Wendell Berry
January 07, 2009, 12:01pm
