pound-tocar

October 21, 2026

You, who are touched not by our mortal ways
Nor girded with the stricture of our bands,
Have but to loose the magic from your hands
And all men’s hearts that glimmer for a day,
And all our loves that are so swift to flame
Rise in that space of sound and melt away.

Previous
Next

Thought:

“All the books I have written have been one book, from the beginning. The first poem I ever wrote, about loss, when I was five years old, expressed the themes of everything I would ever write.”

Marguerite Young

INSTAGRAM

BANDCAMP

YOUTUBE