July is burning a hole in our hearts. We will never be what we were before this summer. Love is temporary, like the clouds above appearing and vanishing into the horizon. I wish I could be more hopeful, instead I’m afraid for what lies beyond even today. Please hold me until I can breathe again.

“Lightning songs
quicken the heart,
Summer turns
inside the stomach
What to do
with thunder
inside the head?”
“Grasping for straws is easier;
You can see the straws.
“This most excellent canopy, the air, look you,”
Presses down upon me
At fifteen pounds per square inch,
A dense, heavy, blue-glowing ocean,
Supporting the weight of condors
That swim its churning currents.
All I get is a thin stream of it,
A finger’s width of the rope that ties me to life
As I labor like a stevedore to keep the connection.
Water wouldn’t be so circumspect;
Water would crash in like a drunken sailor,
But air is prissy and genteel,
Teasing me with its nearness and pervading immensity.
The vast, circumambient atmosphere
Allows me but ninety cubic centimeters
Of its billions of gallons and miles of sky.
I inhale it anyway,
Knowing that it will hurt
In the weary ends of my crumpled paper bag lungs.”
Mark O’Brien, “Breathing”
“And we, who always think of happiness
rising, would feel the emotion
that almost confounds us
when a happy thing falls.”
Rainer Maria Rilke, from “The Tenth Elegy”, in Duino Elegies, translated by Edward Snow (posted on the-final-sentence)
Caroline Bergvall, from “DRIFT” Caroline Bergvall, from “DRIFT” Caroline Bergvall, from “DRIFT” Caroline Bergvall, from “DRIFT”
“Listen to me. I am telling you
a true thing. This is the only kingdom.
The kingdom of touching;
the touches of the disappearing, things.”
Aracelis Girmay, from “Elegy”, in Kingdom Animalia
“Aren’t there enough words
flowing in your veins
to keep you going.”
Margaret Atwood, from “The Shadow Voice”
Le monde est grand, mais en nous
Il est profonde comme la mer.

The world is large, but in us
it is as deep as the sea.”
Rainer Maria Rilke, opening quote to Gaston Bachelard’s Intimate Immensity, in The Poetics of Space