Letting threads waver in the wind...

there are a few quotes from Anne Michaels's Fugitive Pieces that I wanted to revisit, so I though I would let them all sorta hang together...

...and he gave me his cherished copy of a pocket-sized hardcover selection of Greek poetry, planting rows of words in me that would grow for the rest of my life.

In the still house, the visitation of moonlight.

I long for memory to be spirit, but fear it is only skin.

I saw what I can only call a soul, for it was not yet a self, caught in that almost transparent body. I have never before been so close to such palpable evidence of the spirit, so close to the almost invisible musselman whose eyes in the photos show the faint stain of a soul. Without breath, the evidence would vanish entirely. Thomas in his clear plastic womb, barely bigger than a hand.

Truth grows gradually in us, like a musician who plays a piece again and again until suddenly he hears it for the first time.

In a forgotten cup on the terrace, now filled with rain.