Bon Iver, “For Emma, Forever Ago.” A Take Away Show. (This is a beautiful eight minutes.)

poetbabble:

And that was it. All it took. That simple independent and protective gesture. The ability to look away and keep me close, at the same time.

(Source: acase, via sleepanddream)

"I look back over what I’ve written and I know it’s wrong, not because of what I’ve set down, but because of what I’ve omitted. What isn’t there has a presence, like the absence of light.
You want the truth, of course. You want me to put two and two together. But two and two doesn’t necessarily get you the truth. Two and two equals a voice outside the window. Two and two equals the wind. The living bird is not its labelled bones."

Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin  (via unicornology)

"I bought some string cheese today that expires
on your birthday and thought to write you.

I was going to say that I cannot understand why
your parka has not been bought from the Salvation Army yet

(it was a very good parka—it kept you warm
that winter we did not have a car), but all I can think to say

is that I cannot seem to find a way
to say you are gone."

Brett Elizabeth Jenkins, April 6 (via grammatolatry)

(via grammatolatry)

View high resolution

(Source: dirkashlyknoedler)

(via lunarlike)

View high resolution

the-moth-princess:

A rare case of Actias luna albinism

(via wanderlustrr)

gute nacht/good night

night-falling:

I wanted to write “stay”
on your sides, surround
your bed with oceans
of salt. I hope he folds you
into a fox, loves you
like a splintered arrow,
brandishes the kill
of your lips. May the bouquet
of your hips wither.
May the wolves
forget your name.

— J. Bradley

(via day-breaking)

(via arelge)

For The Widows in Paradise: Songs from the House of Death, Or How to Make It Through to the End of a Relationship, by Joy Harjo →

for Donald Hall

1.
From the house of death there is rain.
From rain is flood and flowers.
And flowers emerge through the ruins
of those who left behind
stores of corn and dishes,
turquoise and bruises
from the passion
of fierce love.

2.
I run my tongue over the skeleton
jutting…