I made a house of houselessness,
A garden of your going:
And seven trees of seven wounds
You gave me, all unknowing:
I made a feast of golden grief
That you so lordly left me,
I made a bed of all the smiles
Whereof your lip bereft me:
I made a sun of your delay,
Your daily loss, his setting:
I made a wall of all your words
And a lock of your forgetting.
— Rose O’Neill
via Colleen Doran: https://colleendoran.tumblr.com/post/726289653606514688
#Poetry #mjbPoetry
Original: https://toots.dgplug.org/@jason/110930558717145597
#poetry, #mjbpoetry
We Grow Accustomed to the Dark
https://vimeo.com/139463445
The Bravest — grope a little —
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead —
But as they learn to see —
Either the Darkness alters —
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight
— Emily Dickinson
via https://www.themarginalian.org/2018/09/18/we-grow-accustomed-to-the-dark-emily-dickinson-animation/
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Original: https://toots.dgplug.org/@jason/110177932207762751
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