e.e. cummings, from “who knows if the moon’s” (excerpt from & [And]), Complete Poems: 1904-1962
[Text ID: always / it’s / Spring)and everyone’s / in love and flowers pick themselves”]

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e.e. cummings, from “who knows if the moon’s” (excerpt from & [And]), Complete Poems: 1904-1962
[Text ID: always / it’s / Spring)and everyone’s / in love and flowers pick themselves”]
e.e. cummings, excerpts from XAIPE (”when faces called flowers float out of the ground”), Complete Poems: 1904-1962
[Text ID: “--alive;we’re alive,dear:it’s(kiss me now)spring!”]
It's summer now, and you're craving a simpler existence. You want to read. You want to write. You want to meet strangers for dinner, and not refuse another drink at another bar. You want to dance. You want to find yourself in a basement, neck loose, bobbing your head as a group of musicians play, not because they should, but because they must. It's summer now, and you're looking forward to worrying less. You're looking forward to longer nights and shorter days. You're looking forward to gathering in back gardens and watching meat sputter on an open barbecue. You're looking forward to laughing so hard your chest hurts and you feel light-headed. You're looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You're looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you, which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You're looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You're looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last. You're looking forward.
Caleb Azumah Nelson, Open Water
Rita Dove, “Primer for the Nuclear Age”, Collected Poems 1974-2004
[Text ID: “Any fear, any / memory will do; and if you’ve . got a heart at all, someday / it will kill you”]
John Banville, The Sea
[Text ID: “The past beats inside me like a second heart.”]
e.e. cummings, from “the moon looked into my window” (excerpt from Is 5), Complete Poems: 1904-1962
[Text ID: “the moon looked into my window it touched me with its small hands”]
e.e. cummings, from “the moon is hiding in” (excerpt from Post-Impressions in Tulips), Complete Poems: 1904-1962
[Text ID: “the moon is hiding in / her hair.”]
e.e. cummings, “who are you,little i”, Complete Poems: 1904-1962
[Text ID: "who are you,little i // (five or six years old) / peering from some high // window;at the gold /// of november sunset // (and feeling:that if day / has to become night // this is a beautiful way)"]