My son yesterday, on his third birthday, ignoring the absurdly beautiful sunset and going about his business ❤️

In the invisible cities tonight. The last paragraph of Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities, tr. by William Weaver

You can read about this rubbish heap, the disenchantment of the world it represents, the snowy landscape within which it sits, and the novel it inspired in this interview I did with the fantastic @minorliteratures.bsky.social Many thanks to @monalisavitti.bsky.social and @tobiasvryan.bsky.social

Good morning with Ingeborg Bachmann refuting one of my favorite quotes by Julio Cortázar: "Bridges are made for crossing" Bridges All bridges are lonely.

🌺🌸 Happy birthday to me! 🌸🌺 And happy book sale to you! Let me send you some flowers! $6.22 includes shipping! DM me! @triohousepress.org

Happy Father's Day to my husband, an amazing father to our son. A pilgrimage to the homeland of his fatherless childhood he made earlier this year. Some travels are only imagined. 🖤

Reposting this because @poemakontsa.bsky.social reminded me of how wonderful Jan Zwicky is. "Isn't love / always like this? — A spider's thread, spindrift / with the tensile strength of steel. The light must fall / just so to make it visible,"

Fell into the art rabbit hole of Tetsuhiro Wakabayashi's artworks. Sea, Petal, Silence, Passion

"History teaches but has no pupils", wrote Bachmann echoing Gramsci. We can read a ton of history books, witness a ton of horrific events, and still remain in the same terra incognita—our own unexamined self. No amount of right thinking or belief will spare us the appointments with the human psyche.

Another night (among so many others, another year, a decade?) when I repeat after Mary Oliver (I think): "Poetry saved me. I got saved by the beauty of the world."

Trying to pray with James Wright. One of my dearest poems. There is this cave In the air behind my body That nobody is going to touch

Good morning to the doomed souls (and to my 24 years old self whose headphones exploded when BMTH'S album That's the Spirit came out) 🖤 youtu.be/23-8TLCyuEk?...

“Descended out of winter, out of hunger.” A poem by Kathleen Jamie.

Wandering around at night

Kafka to Milena Jesenská, June 11, 1920 (in "Franz Kafka: Letters to Milena", tr. by Philip Boehm)

@liamsprod.bsky.social, do you still need the article 'Adorno, Benjamin, and Natural Beauty on "This Sad Earth"'? I think you were looking for this one.

I have new work at UCIty Review, 8 poems. Thanks to eds. Andrew Cox & Raphael Maurice. "I’m the vision trapped in the artist, the paint between bristles, dabs and strokes of color, life hidden in lines. Creator moving inside the created." "Living on the Fringe" www.ucityreview.com/32_Rasnake_S...

R.E.M., “Find the River” youtu.be/n2iQ5Pqsb80?...

Ghosting myself on a Saturday night

to meet lyrical Anne Carson past midnight when half asleep ❤️ (in Note on Method, ECONOMY OF THE UNLOST)

Rilke and some time away.

"Like a dancer to music, we can be a marionette to the currents of those rhythms and words. [...] Or we can begin in silence and let the rhythms come from the body or from language itself." — beautiful musings on poetry, voice, music and language heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/beethov...

Husband sent me some beautiful "landscapes" (by Marek Miś). They look like paintings but are actually images of organic compounds. I thought I'd share them. :)

Insomnia blues— Memories of Lightness (Maya von der Nebel)

Returning to David Naimon's answer when the thought "language is a failure" stops the pen.

'We are creatures of longing, the side effect of which is loneliness. And so, to stave off such loneliness, we listen and read and watch and breathe each other's longing." Davin Kelly in today's Ordinary Plots ordinaryplots.substack.com/p/linda-greg...

"The mind is a thing deeply marked. I have bound myself to this damage." This beauty by Laurie Sheck '[Did not forsee]', from a favourite collection CAPTIVITY 🤍 #smallpoemsunday @tomsnarsky.bsky.social #poetrycommunity

of water and trees

Some flowers for @susanlleary.bsky.social "Greedy me, I pluck the flowers. I commit / a minor contentedness. I stow the words in my palm." (from I Don't Want to Write about Flowers)

Quotes from Julia Kristeva's "Black Sun" in my 'depression notebook', dated May 26, 2009 "The sadness that overwhelms us, the retardation that paralyzes us, are also a shield—sometimes the last one—against madness." "From what passion did such a pain arise?"

so in the mood for this poem nzpoetryshelf.com/2026/05/25/p...

"There is a moment after you move your eye away when you forget where you are because you’ve been living, it seems, somewhere else, in the silence of the night sky." ~ Louise Glück

Jan Zwicky again, this time from "Schumann: Fantasie, Op. 17"

Jan Zwicky, from "Beethoven: Op. 95", CHAMBER MUSIC

Baby coyote 💚 Where does the thrill of seeing a wild creature come from?

"How fragile we are, between the few good moments." - Jane Hirshfield

from Chamber Music: The Poetry of Jan Zwicky (selected with an introduction by Darren Bifford and Warren Heiti) ❤️

‘The narrator’s existence has the fey quality of a fairy tale. But if there are elements of a childhood fantasy in 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘭𝘭, it also has a dystopian undercurrent.’ Becca Rothfeld on the Austrian novelist Marlen Haushofer. www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v4...

I've a new piece of cnf at Eunoia Review, "On the Empty Boat" - complete with the landscape of Maine, a boat, a quiet marsh, and a walk in sand. @eunoiareview.bsky.social eunoiareview.wordpress.com/2026/05/14/o...

💨 ~~~ wild winds ~~~ wild water ~~~ 💨 [on a small stone outside my home]

The lilac I planted three years ago has bloomed

Anke Roder - Seafoam, Clouds & Wind 2025 panorama-mesdag.nl/en/see-and-d...

Florian Illies on the Monk By the Sea in "The Magic of Silence: Caspar David Friedrich's Journey Through Time": "God has lured him to the edge of this beach and left him alone; now the monk tempts us, would make him fall into his abyss, his maelstrom, with him." www.theguardian.com/artanddesign...

Thinking back on my visit to Pompeii — ruins, time, and poppies everywhere — I remembered a line from Tsvetaeva's Poem of the End "the dead have enough poppies"; remembered how beautiful this poem is, how it reads (in Russian) like a whiplash, a kiss, another whiplash. ruverses.com/marina-tsvet...

In this interview in the literary journal Parentheses, @susanlleary.bsky.social explores the process of writing through and about grief in her poetry collection, Dressing the Bear: www.parenthesesjournal.com/interviews-f...

Odilon Redon and van Gogh the other day in Rome at the Ara Pacis Museum ("Impressionismo e oltre. Capolavori dal Detroit Institute of Arts.")

Somewhere out there, there is light