I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the…
“Night. Moon. Black leaves.
I open the French window wide:
Between us other barriers,
On my threshold
When my window is open upon the night,
Moths, black leaves, moonlight.”—Kathleen Raine (1908-2003) via yama-bato & silver-age (via moonlitcorner)