#w.s.merwin

[dk-thrive]

I say to my breath once again, little breath come from in front of me, go away behind me, row me quietly now, as far as you can, for I am an abyss that I am trying to cross.

— W.S. Merwin, The Book of Fables (Copper Canyon Press, 2007)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

“let us stay home together my love and not know as the rain does not know where it came from and the sea that is all around us does not know its beginning” From “In the Meantime” by W.S. Merwin, from his book Garden Time (Copper Canyon Press, 2016) [The Merwin Conservancy]

[squeakowl]

Late in May as the light lengthens toward summer the young goldfinches flutter down through the day for the first time to find themselves among fallen petals cradling their day's colors in the day's shadows of the garden beside the old house after a cold spring with no rain not a sound comes from the empty village as I stand eating the black cherries from the loaded branches above me saying to myself Remember this —"Black Cherries," W.S. Merwin

[coralinaroca]

Viajar Juntos

(W.S. Merwin)

Si estamos separados voy

a tratar de esperarte

de tu lado de las cosas

tu lado de la pared y del agua

y de la luz que se mueve a su velocidad

incluso de las hojas que hayamos visto

voy a esperar de un lado

mientras haya lados.

[elizabethanism]

“ come back

believer in shade

believer in silence and elegance

believer in ferns

believer in patience

believer in the rain.”

— W.S.MERWIN

[asp1diske-art]

Memory of the Loss of Wings

[appy]

"Turning", by W.S. Merwin

Going too fast for myself I missed more than I think I can remember almost everything it seems sometimes and yet there are chances that come back that I did not notice where they stood where I could have reached out and touched them this morning the black shepherd dog still young looking up and saying Are you ready this time

[catherine-white]

#2 summer series 2016

Sitting over words very late I have heard a kind of whispered sighing not far like a night wind in pines or like the sea in the dark the echo of everything that has ever been spoken still spinning its one syllable between the earth and silence --  W. S. Merwin, "Utterance"