The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart by Jack Gilbert
MY LOVE IS A HUNDRED PITCHERS OF HONEY
(Source: printed-ink, via thethinkingtank)
we are quietly unfolding;
a punctuated pressure, relentless
crease by crease
lifting in waves of daunting gravity,
gentle pulls, rapid pushes,
winding
like roads to nowhere
Posted November 22, 2011 at 10:06am

