What makes night within us may leave stars. ― Victor Hugo, Ninety-Three. (The Paper Tiger May 1, 2002) Originally published February 19th 1874.
What if the heart does not pale as the body wanes, but is like the sun that blazes hotter each day on these immense, perishing fields? What then? (Desire is not the problem. This far south, we are careful not to mistake seizures for love.) He sits there bewildered in a clamp of light. In… Continue reading Jack Gilbert
Even as a child, she had preferred night to day, had enjoyed sitting out in the yard after sunset, under the star-speckled sky listening to frogs and crickets. Darkness soothed. It softened the sharp edges of the world, toned down the too-harsh colors. With the coming of twilight, the sky seemed to recede; the universe… Continue reading Dean Koontz
Firefly Under The Tongue I love you from the sharp tang of the fermentation; in the blissful pulp. Newborn insects, blue. In the unsullied juice, glazed and ductile. Cry that distills the light: through the fissures in fruit trees; under mossy water clinging to the shadows. The papillae,… Continue reading Coral Brach
The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd: The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness… Continue reading Fernando Pessoa
It’s obscene to remember; worse: it’s sad. To forget is to die —Vicente Aleixandre, from “What Is Forgotten,” A Longing for the Light: Selected Poems of Vicente Aleixandre(American Poetry Review Press, 2007)