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Literature Text
We've heard it said the world ends not with fire,
a bang, but rather softly whimpering,
and everything with form one day will break
but I have never loved you more than this.
a bang, but rather softly whimpering,
and everything with form one day will break
but I have never loved you more than this.
Literature
Eurydice
His voice enveloped me, and I became
Myself again--I heard it in the song:
A mordent on a note he held too long;
A stutter in his voice. I heard my name
In these and felt a happiness the same
As when I saw him first. Oh, I had longed
To hear him sing again, but this last song--
It was so beautiful. And it remains
The best of human works, though none shall hear
Its sorrowed notes; the lyre's meand'ring tune
Through vast arpeggios and Death's expanse
Except the dead. It will not disappear
'Till all the world's destroyed, and hell's exhumed--
Such music must be worth a backwards glance.
Literature
Foresight
Debra Mae was an astonishingly good programmer.
Her code always worked correctly the first time, and she never missed a deadline. Her workspace was immaculate, but curiously devoid of personal effects. No framed pictures, no toys, just her small collection of pens lined up according to color and an inbox for the occasional old-school paper input.
Her computer was equally immaculate. Nothing extra on her desktop, no stray icons. If one peeked at her browser history there’d be nothing there but work-related google searches and company stuff.
She dressed neatly but very plainly. I suspected she had four dresses in her wardrobe an
Literature
Euphrosyne
dawn.
legs splash from milky sheets.
she rises from the bed like a wave
and crests, just before bare feet touch wood
and fog crawls across the mirror.
midmorning.
footsteps leave damp prints on the floor.
she sings in muted tendrils that float through
hollow rooms.
the sun dries her hair with copper fingers.
noon.
the shadows bunch beneath her feet
and she tosses them across the sky-
painting clouds over the staring sun.
mile-long legs stretch across the world
and she
makes love to the hand-me-down earth.
afternoon.
her quickened breath becomes the wind
and sails ships across the seven seas.
dusk.
when the sun grows w
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Hope.
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