rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Persisting

The sun emerged for a while today, but was not strong enough to warm the air. Brightness intensified the colors of the fallen leaves, but they remained sodden. Tonight frost will eat away at them, and tomorrow their decay will scent the chill air. It will be like that for days, and then another storm will come. December will be another November, January most likely another December. Here I am counting the days until spring, and the entire winter lies between now and then. The furnace clicks on, burning money.



Sunday Verse



With Letter And Clock


by Paul Celan


Wax,
to seal what's unwritten
that guessed
your name,
that riddles
your name.

You're coming down, are you, downdrifting light?

Fingers, waxen as well,
drawn through
strange and aching rings.
Fingertips melted away.

You're coming, downdrifting light?

Clock's honeycomb empty of time,
bees myriad bridelike,
ready for flight.

Come, downdrifting light.


translated by John Falstiner
Subscribe

  • Reset Twenty-Two, Day Seven

    The sky seemed an oddly deep shade of blue Tuesday afternoon, and free of both smoke and clouds, but as I looked at it longer something seemed a bit…

  • Reset Twenty-Two, Day Six

    Monday brought more sleep, this time from about one o'clock in the afternoon until just after six in the evening. The one advantage of that was that…

  • Reset Twenty-Two, Day Five

    The sleep schedule weirdness is continuing. Sunday I woke up around two o'clock in the afternoon after sleeping almost eight hours, but when ten…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 0 comments