Feb 11, 2011


Faith: To believe is to believe you have been torn/from the abyss, yet stand waveringly on its rim.

Desolate: Deep down, she may have been as sad as a cover band. She might have felt drier than a clod of Arkansas dirt. Lonely lonely lonely, like the hunter green suitcase that hadn’t been used since her honeymoon.

Fulfilment: Like a baker, swaddling the juice and heft of apples in pastry,/I want my mouth to cradle the delicious name of God

Deathbed: Taken in your beauty, let the last hands/that hold you/be gentle.

Read these beautiful lines on the NYT books page and just tagged them for themes.

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