Wednesday March 16, 2011

Overcast and damp. In the garden, the new leaves of lamb’s-ears look fresher than they did last fall, delicately furred, alive, alert.

3 Comments


  1. Spindle

    Today a poet read these words transcribed
    from a different language: “*Mi destino intermitente*”
    –and a door opened into a garden where the weather
    was overcast and damp, but things were growing:
    for instance, new leaves of lamb’s-ears looking delicately
    furred, alive, alert. We passed through and touched
    the dark veins of flowers pulsing on the vine, caught
    our spindle-shaped reflections– “*fusiforme*”–
    in puddles of water. Sometimes the world bends to
    your position. The wasp returns to its nest and
    finds it in tatters. Sometimes it is enough to live
    in the complicated arc between losing and finding,
    enough to gather what sweetness remains.

    ~ Luisa A. Igloria
    03 16 2011



  2. Luisa, the way you walk into the world of a poem touching the dark veins as you pass thru, the way you let the world you see bend to your words, noticing the delicate arc between losing and finding, you touch something shimmery in me that has no words only gratitude.

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