Friday, June 21
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Lord, the air smells good today,
straight from the mysteries
within the inner courts of God.
A grace like new clothes thrown
across the garden,
free medicine for everybody.
The trees in their prayer,
the birds in praise
the first blue violets kneeling.
Whatever came from Being
is caught up in being,
drunkenly forgetting the way back.
 - Jelaluddin Rumi









  • ". . . as I have said often enough, I write for myself in multiplicate,
    a not unfamiliar phenomenon on the horizon of shimmering deserts."
    - Vladimir Nabokov