memoryslandscape:

                                  If Heaven Is

what one believes
                                 then let doubt
                                                          become autumn smoke

let burning leaves
                                 free each green moment
                                                              one wishes to forget

so there remains
                                 no regrets to haunt
                                                                             one’s sleep

let the dream
                                 gauntlet of herons
                                                              carry what they may

unfulfilled promises
                                the old hometown
                                                    no longer a Currier & Ives
                         
in its greeting card of snow
                                let every longing
                                                                   worth longing for

find a potter’s glaze
                                that last glimpse
                                                                    of a lover’s body
                                   
now shaped
                                into a vase
                                                                let the elegiac grey
                                     
ascension of geese
                                finally reach
                                                               its distant yearning

Greg Sellers, opening lines to “If Heaven Is,” early work from an unfinished manuscript

(via memoryslandscape)

spot the tiny punk.

a-quiet-green-agreement:

“And she carried in her soul a limpid golden glass of champagne happiness.”

– Tatyana Tolstaya, from “The Moon Came Out,” White Walls: Collected Stories (NYRB, 2007)

(via jazbaaati)

softwaring:

please watch this time lapse it was so pretty n there’s lightning at the end 🌩

(via english-idylls)

ramble

Each dream reoccurs, and I believe each has a haunting to tell, or that they are all combined to tell me something I need to know to move forward.

I am scared of delving into the thoughts surrounding these visions, but they won’t let me be.

I would like to write about freedom, the light shining through trees, love aches, and starry eyes, but I don’t think that’s what was meant for me. I think my life has a story to tell of deep woods, broken hearts and minds, and poignant memory.