[moma-a-day]

Desert Fire #249, by Richard Misrach, 1985

[grisgrimoire]

[wordsbydd]

from Bluets by Maggie Nelson

[zegalba]

[ilookattextile]

Beautiful plain weave under magnification

[oparhelion]

This is the heat that seeks the flaw in everything and loves the flaw.

— Jorie Graham, “Tennesse June”; from The Dream of the Unified Field: Selected Poems, 1974–1994

[havingapoemwithyou]

lullaby at 102º by Traci Brimhall

[sentimentalbeing2001]

Anaïs Nin

[dailyoverview]

The Juruá River is a southern tributary of the Amazon River, flowing approximately 1,500 miles (2,400 km) through Brazil and Peru. For most of its length, the river winds through the Amazon basin and is generally curvy and sluggish.

See more here: https://bit.ly/31vG3Hf

-2.635833°, -65.756111°

Source imagery: Planet

[oflightandfiction]

A soft liquid joy like the noise of many waters flowed over his memory and he felt in his heart the soft peace of silent spaces of fading tenuous sky above the waters, of oceanic silence, of swallows flying through the seadusk over the flowing waters.

— James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (Chapter 5)

[chicagogeek]

Poet Gwendolyn Brooks on the back steps of her home in Chicago, ca. 1960.

(Photographer: Slim Aarons)

[thirdity]

“I want the present without dressing it up with a future that redeems it, not even with a hope — until now what hope wanted in me was just to conjure away the present. But I want much more than that: I want to find the redemption in today, in right now, in the reality that is being, and not in the promise, I want to find joy in this instant.”

— Clarice Lispector, The Passion According to G. H.

[apoemaday]

Some Afternoons She Does Not Pick Up the Phone

by Anne Carson

It is February. Ice is general. One notices different degrees of ice. Its colors -- blue white brown greyblack silver -- vary. Some ice has core bits of gravel or shadow inside. Some is smooth as a flank, you cannot stand on it. Standing on it the wind goes thin, to shreds. All we wished for, shreds. The little ones cannot stand on it. Not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, can stand. Blindingly -- what came through the world there -- burns. It is February. Ice is general. One notices different degrees of ice.

[apocryphics]

[weltenwellen]

Natalie Díaz, from “Grief Work”, Postcolonial Love Poem

[thunderstruck9]

Jorge González Velázquez (Mexican, 1966), Luz, 2015. Acrylic on paper, 36 x 47.5 cm.

[perriaeyjeve]