08/08/23 I wander a Spanish apartment. I wonder why a Spanish apartment. By Spanish, I mean, I suppose, Mediterranean, and by apartment, perhaps, villa. Inch square blue and white ceramic tiles checker the floors. The walls are chalk-plaster smooth. Cool-white ceilings, too. The furniture is simple; quiet; hand-turned pine and raffia. Their shadow backs and … Continue reading dream diaries… 119
Through the moonlit orchard, ghostly, passed a cohort quiet mostly, but for bridled horses snorting and a phaeton's lines, unspoken. In the loaming, apples, gallowed, tarnished silver, in the branches, shivered in that haunted gloam; the ungathered pome. * Shadows rushed the walls and ceiling of my chamber, causing flame and … Continue reading The Ungathered Pome.
Tucking one arm behind her, throwing out the other; up front and on bended knees, looking rather pleased, she says, very sweetly, I invented these. Dusting down the figurines, endless cups of tea, combing crumbs from the sofa, keeps the window clean - sunlight pouring in. He says, I invented these. Tweezing splinters from her … Continue reading The Inventors.
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