The candles were lit, the room burned yellow, the music started, they had to go.
*
What preceded was an artless afternoon: A table by the window. Soon there will sit one boy and one girl who, careful to betray their feelings, will mostly look through the colorless glass.
In not meeting each other's eyes, the sounds sharpen. They listen to each other's rhythm, each surprised by the other's attention. No big emotion must let loose.
*
The candles were lit, the room burned yellow, the heart felt hunger, they had to go.
12 June 2013
Top Shelf
-
The Vocalist The rest could only imitate what he alone and all alone could do: sustain, vibrate, reach unnamed colors of the soundscape. ...
-
Pulse (A love poem) In the beginning was a pulse that came right before any breath to birth a song or a word. It throbs even as the music...
-
Pictures to Show The article calls for being present. That instead of taking photos of the bee Sucking on sunflower, Lock your eyes ...
-
So I have gotten into the habit of recording my piano practices because reasons (that have got to do with skills development and, admittedl...
-
Everyday view from the kitchen window You read your horoscope and think it can apply to literally anyone in the world. Then you go deeper ...
-
Prelude Let's make work of beginnings. Think prelude, how the masters leave little worlds on their own till one is found by acc...
-
None of the Lights I answered with reluctance when you invited me to a bonfire by the beach with young girls and a local who, despite her ...
-
Superboy! You have a liking for high places Dissecting plain skies Looking down on people Dissolving into borders Because you wish to fly...
-
Appropriate, to the level of cliché, that the first blog of the year features a prelude. In TV-series tradition, a brief recap of 202...
-
Modiano, Patrick. The Black Notebook. Mariner, 2016. My favorite bookstagrammer (is that how you call them?) told me that "[Patrick...