We pause for verse:

[slipjig3]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

— e e cummings

Thank you. Carry on.

Comments

[shadesong.livejournal.com]

...Spooky *just* sent me this poem, as a page in a scrapbook she made for me.

[slipjig.livejournal.com]

It's long been one of my favorites. Synchronicity is a grand thing, isn't it? *hugs*

[mac-arthur-park.livejournal.com]

I love that poem.

[slipjig.livejournal.com]

Me, too. I almost posted another cummings poem instead, "the boys i mean are not refined," but changed my mind in the interest of decorum.

[kiwitayro.livejournal.com]

that is on my top 5 list of absolute favoritest poems evar.

(i don't know what the other 4 are right now, but they'd probably involve T.S. Eliot and Leonard Cohen and Paul Simon...)

[slipjig.livejournal.com]

*beams* Probably one of mine as well, along with "Effort at Speech Between Two People" by Muriel Rukeyser, and "Come Dance with Kitty Stobling" by Patrick Kavanagh ("I had a very pleasant journey, thank you sincerely / For giving me my madness back, or nearly." *swoon*)