Aug
24th
Mon
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I can’t remember what it was to be warm. It seems a thousand years since I was a small boy in the sun. How did I come to this high, desolate place where there is nothing but loneliness? So much is lost. I want to look into your eyes and forget. It all seems so far away: a warm house where my shadow never falls; your long, black hair in my hands. There is no more revolution, only you to come back to.
— Colonel Ernesto Bella
Aug
14th
Fri
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Aug
13th
Thu
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Aug
12th
Wed
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Aug
10th
Mon
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Aug
8th
Sat
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what would you do
if all the lovers of your years
passed by at midnight
dressed in the flesh
they wore when you
last loved them?
what do I do?
what do I say?
I loved you then,
I touch you now
with all the glow
you left in the palm of my hands

—Robin Blaser 1925-2009