#fugative leaves

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Belarus. :: source

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The world itself, all I read, the people, the art, the weather I encounter, they all belong in a poem that I am not writing, a poem that contains me too, a poem that slowly reveals its generous and surprising connections. I think I cannot write that poem. I can only live in it. — Heather Christle, “Crying in the Library,” for Fugitive Leaves (via bostonpoetryslam)

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