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Archive for June, 2013

You’re learning how to hold the note, I say to an aspiring novelist

All the parts of yourself, the black and the pink

Combine in an unholy alliance

And become green topiaries

Because we never see what it is. Only what we make

Because there must be love in this land

Because to be is not to be all

Because the ineffable can be named in metaphor

If there was ever anything that came out of you that was real…

It.

To what?

To make It.

What is It?

You’ve come too far into the intermediate realm, she says, anger in her voice.

 

-Nina Alvarez

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Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

 

-Lord Alfred Tennyson

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