The Island

Yesterday in between classes Holly and I sat under the shade of the trees in the small garden-like courtyard about which mulled students going to and from class...she and I have a habit of finding a secret garden wherever we go... the people and lulling voices like slow undulations of waves around our little island as I lay down under the tree and stared up through the filtered green-lit leaves and little shafts of pure light through caterpillar-eaten circles I felt as if no one could see me in our little island of lit up green light with clear walls and even if they did it was no consequence to me as i lay in the grass with dirt in my hair and sun on my eyelids...the sun is like medicine to the soul and i said to holly some scientist person would disregards this as some rocess of seratonin release blablablablablablabla chemical in blood stream blablablablablabl vitamin D blablablabla so what its still a miracle she says...




What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh Upon the glass and listen for reply, And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered lads that not again Will turn to me at midnight with a cry. Thus in winter stands the lonely tree, Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one, Yet knows its boughs more silent than before: I cannot say what loves have come and gone, I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more.