by ee cummings

i have found what you are like

by e.e. cummings

i have found what you are like
the rain

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned
newfragile yellows

lurch and.press
–in the woods
which
stutter
and
sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss

I subscribe to the Writer’s Almanac, a newsletter sent out by Garrison Keillor at American Public Media dot org. They send out a different poem every day. Sometimes I read them. But this one caught my eye.

The Past
by Nin Andrews

If she closed her eyes, she could see it
in the dark room of her mind,
the jukebox of her soul
developing so slowly,
she especially liked the way
he said the word, blouse,
when he unbuttoned her
silk blouse, blue blouse, flowered blouse,
his favorite one was pink
and hung on a green lamp
like a flower on a stem
now that he was gone,
and so was she
and no one lived there anymore,
the town kept lighting up without them
as if it were the first dusk.

From now on I’ll ask,
Why I do nothing.
I collect rejected snapshots.
Warm memories of that was then.

When the end of the rope comes,
It is only the end, not the length of it.
He stood in the bathroom and looked back.
What did we do together,
Why did we do anything.

I’ve practiced letting go.
I feel the end, the frayed strands.
But the firmness of the thing holds.
Still, no matter where it all went.