To admit that what falls
falls solitarily, lost in the permanent dusk of the particular.
From The New Intelligence, Timothy Donnelly
falls solitarily, lost in the permanent dusk of the particular.
From The New Intelligence, Timothy Donnelly
".....We should be careful of each other, we should be kind, while there is still time." Philip Larkin
Sunday, February 3, 2013
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2013
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February
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- Epiphany
- Wave after Wave
- I know, I know, I know that this is changing me
- Uttaraayan
- Bluebells for Love
- 26
- Night Picnic
- Nishida
- Dear lost sharer of silences
- Earth
- The Harp
- February
- Flying at Night
- Companion
- Recite the list
- Valentine for Ernest Mann
- This much I do Remember
- The Breather
- Wanting to Die
- Yours is the name the leaves chatter
- The Vastness
- The mornings, despairing
- Too often
- The terror
- On the Term of Exile
- After the Sea
- Just Now
- The Room
- The Time
- In the same country as you
- Abandoned Farmhouse
- Running along the egde of madness
- I have no notion of loving people by halves
- Palais d’Hiver
- Drawing, and Silence
- Autumn
- On music, myth, and shapely speech
- Lot's Wife
- So much light wrapping itself around us
- Sonnet
- Come with me then
- To admit
- Flying at Night
- Maturity
- Inspiration is for amateurs
- What's all this stuff about motivation?
- There are days
- Tender, luminous, and demanding
- The Place Of The Solitaires
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