The seasons revolve and the years change
With no assistance or supervision.
The moon, without taking thought,
Moves in its circle, full crescent, and full.
The white moon enters the heart of the river;
The air is drugged with azalea blossoms;
Deep in the night a pine cone falls;
Our campfire dies out in the empty mountains.
The sharp stars flicker in the tremulous branches;
The lake is black, bottomless in the crystalline night;
High in the sky the Northern Crown
Is cut in half by the dim summit of a snow peak.
O heart, heart, so singularly
Intransigent and corruptible,
Here we lie entranced by the starlit water,
And moments that should each last forever
Slide unconsciously by us like water.
Kenneth Rexroth, Another Spring (via softwair)
"For we live with those retrievals from childhood that coalesce and echo throughout our lives, the way shattered pieces of glass in a kaleidoscope reappear in new forms and are songlike in their refrains and rhymes, making up a single monologue. We live permanently in the recurrence of our own stories, whatever story we tell."
"Body, gabion, lit
cage of copper skin and threaded blood:
you’ll know one more death, as you knew you would.
I’ll puncture through, the hook
in you, though barely.
This time, a hare will flood out from the fox
warren of me, though its knees knock
and the stars slouch like fat coins in the mud.
It will burn softly, proudly, for leaving
no signs of passage. This floods like a sail
-shaped ear. So I press it to the wall."
"what is there that is real? I drink and
drink and feel no different than before.
there is a cling of vermouth on my tongue,
like the frailty of roses after picked,
and i breathe in, hoping to breathe in
a new me."
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
"She saw in the rainbow the earth’s new architecture, the old, brittle corruption of houses and factories swept away, the world built up in a living fabric of Truth, fitting to the over-arching heaven."
D. H. Lawrence, The Rainbow
Friday Final Lines | Every Friday, we offer the closing lines of a Penguin Classic to finish up the workweek.