The Last Kind Words

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republicj:

Only if I move my arm a certain way, it comes backOr the way the light bends in the trees this time of yearso a scrap of sorrow, like a bird, lights on the heartI carry this in my body, a seed in an unswept corner,husk-encowled and seeming safe.But they guard me, these small pains, from growing sure of myself,-and perhaps forgetting.

watashi wa kagome

mydarkenedeyes:

The Mirror of Borges by Francisco Villarroel
Based on the poems of Jorge Luis Borges
Ink on paper

marcomazzoni:

“Kalós, éidos, scopéo” 2012, colored pencils on paper, cm 65x45

tomzeh:

Volcano Cake at Mammoth by oilfighter on Flickr.