Blue Willow Moon

"Tell me who is more blue, is it you or me?"

[annafridacharlotte]

[contremineur]

At dusk every flower looks blue.

Valentina Gnup, final line to We speak of August

from here

[bluewillowmoon]

“Over & over he whispered her name, trochaic as never, never, never, his heart losing its own sense of rhythm.

— Greg Sellers, journal entry, Notes from Neruda’s Ghost, 11 April 2018

(saved from memoryslandscape post)

[bluewillowmoon]

“And all the sorrows of one man’s life

gathered word by word

in the beak of a blue impertinent bird

that overmastered yet could cry

one note that reached the root of us.”

— Christian Wiman, from “Press Only in Case of Emergency,” The Dance: Poems (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2026)

[cabinhome]

[bluewillowmoon]

“I clam up, trying to write you.

You must think I’ve ghosted you.

All the letters I haven’t written you

like so many clams jammed in beach mud.

Reaching underfoot to pick one up,

I pry at the shell till it breaks open.

Brackish water dribbles out.

I’ve broken a thousand clams like this.

But it’s okay, they don’t feel pain.”

— Tareq Hajjaj, “Slant Heaven,” transl. Najlaa Eltom & Edward Salem, Poetry (July/August, 2026)

[bluewillowmoon]

“There she is [. . . ] like an eclipse you can’t keep yourself from glancing at, though you can feel the damage accruing.”

— Christian Wiman, from “There Could Come a Cuckoo,” The Dance: Poems (Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 2026)

[bluewillowmoon]

“Another life, as they say, though there is always only one, sound and mind so mysteriously aligned

one strains to tell if memory’s foghorn is real or if that’s simply the sound that memory makes.

I was not alone, that much I know, though no one was with me, gentle swells, mists tearing and repairing,

and all the fine gradations of grays like melancholy made visible, holding its holy like a secret for the end.”

— Christian Wiman, from “Prelude in Gray Major,”The Dance: Poems (Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 2026)

[bluewillowmoon]

Heat Lightning and a Few Fireflies, Mississippi, 9 July 2022

[bluewillowmoon]

“I love you; I don’t know how else to begin.

How we began, though, was almost as if it were already written. The details of how we arrived

at each other, to say I love you even as we fall asleep,

to let each other’s name be the first sound we utter every morning, can only be a gift of careful construction,

a design of an elsewhere where we were already together.

Saying nothing, you make me want to live more meaningfully.

The world is so wild, beautiful, and terrifying, and everywhere we turn, a new atrocity.

Then, I close my eyes and picture joy. Among things, there is this day. Among faces,

there is yours. And I am no longer afraid.

I watch you in your own, quiet moments, and I want this life. I want this life

to be longer. All I want is more time with you.

I love you. This is the only way I know how to end.”

— Emily Jungmin Yoon, “Vow,” Find Me as the Creature I Am: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2024)

[ishikorokoroishi]

“flower”

2017.6.28

#flower#flowerstagram#ig_flower#写真好きな人と繋がりたい#love#peace http://ift.tt/2qvbRfW

[bluewillowmoon]

“I think desire is the wrong word and love too plain, devotion too sacred.

My whole life, I think, I will use for describing you.

What do I know outside of words, which despite their history and combinations, are too few and short for this life.

I don’t know if I want heaven, but I know I want

to be where you go—”

— Emily Jungmin Yoon, from “Evolution,” Find Me as the Creature I Am: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2024)

[bluewillowmoon]

“Have we only one season? A single summer and it's all over."

— Frode Grytten, from The Ferryman and His Wife, transl. Alison McCullough (Algonquin Books, 2025)

[bluewillowmoon]

“Just the act of falling in love was to agree to a broken heart.”

— Taylor Jenkins Reid, from Atmosphere (Ballantine Books, 2025)

[fragments-of-noir]

[musenemesis]

Cecil B

[mutable-wings]

Who knows? perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us yesterday, separate, in the evening...

— Rainer Maria Rilke, from "You Who Never Arrived," translated by Stephen Mitchell

[bluewillowmoon]

“There's nothing

left to hold onto. Never was. Though I felt it,

though I thought I could, though I believed

you were mine. Though I borrowed you. Though

we borrowed each other. Though we own nothing.”

— Catherine Esposito Prescott, from “Meditation on Blue,” from SUPERBLOOM (Gunpowder Press, 2026)