Poetry | Words by Franz Wright

Words I don’t know where they come from. I can summon them (sometimes I can) into my mind, into my fingers, I don’t know why. Or I’ll suddenly hear them walking, sometimes waking— they don’t often come when I need them. When I need them most terribly, never. ~ Franz Wright

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Poetry | The Summer Day ~ Mary Oliver

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean— the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down— who is […]

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