?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

after dinner

after dinner, he had a book in his lap, but he had no eyes for his page: his eyes, in the swarming void of things, seemed to have caught kate creston's, and it was into their sad silences he looked. it was to him her sentient spirit had turned, knowing it to be of her he would think. he thought for a long time of how the closed eyes of dead women could still live - how they could open again, in a quiet lamplit room, long after they had looked their last. they had looks that survived - had them as great poets had quoted lines.

monday ci bis

Profile

wabbit season
jones_casey
cleaning up so well

Latest Month

September 2017
S M T W T F S
     12
3456789
10111213141516
17181920212223
24252627282930

Tags

Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Witold Riedel