Sunday, July 26, 2020

This instant

There isn’t time--so brief is life--
for bickerings, apologies, 
heart-burnings, callings to account. 
There is only time for loving--
and but an instant, so to speak, for that.
                Mark Twain, Letter to Clara Spaulding



at
  • Poem: So This Is Nebraska
    The gravel road rides with a slow gallop over the fields, the telephone lines streaming behind, its billow of dust full of the sparks of the...
  • Find a way or make one
    If you have the words,       there's always a chance that you'll find the way.                     Seamus Heaney, Stepping Ston...
  • Poem: Passover
    Tell me: how is this night different, from all other nights? How, tell me, is this Passover, different from other Passovers? Light the lamp,...