The Little Mute Boy The little boy was looking for his voice. (The king of the crickets had it.) In a drop of water the little boy was looking for his voice. I do not want it for speaking with; I will make a ring of it so that he may wear my silence on… Continue reading Federico García Lorca
Yea, all things live forever, though at times they sleep and are forgotten. ― H. Rider Haggard, She. (Oxford University Press, October 22, 1998) Originally published 1887.
If you stand there long enough the air will thicken with dusk and dust and exhaust and finally with a starless dark. The day will become something it’s never been before, something for which I have no name. — Philip Levine, from “How to Get There,” Poetry (February 2012)