Grandma Moses, Wood Lane, 1942.
(Source: dappledwithshadow, via variationofmarge)
North light
Kissing you
on that hard wood floor
in that open and empty
assembly room
somehow
was like lying
in the sun in
my backyard, falling asleep
there, dreaming i was lying
in the sun of
some island country - a different
place’s sun -
and waking up
at twilight
because the air around me
had turned grayish blue and colder
yet clearer, or -
easier to see through -
than earlier.
It was like a lot of other things,
too, but
this one feels right
to put in a poem.
When you wake up
from a sun-drenched nap
into a chillier outside
you must decide whether
to go inside for the evening
or to grab a sweater
and come back out.
i am so proud of and lucky to have the archive of work i have made since i was 17 years old. this one is from 2016 when i was 23.
Dream house
the first last and only
big soul shaking thing we ever
did together was go to
that light installation in
a new york city apartment
drenched in pink neon we
almost seemed
right for each other
you lay with your head on a pillow
and your eyes closed i
sat at the window watching
flocks of birds
gather atop
and disperse from
the roof of another
building
next time i love someone i
want us to be those birds
not just one person
inside looking on
from a window.
