Dearest,
I’m bathing myself in the sand of your eyes.
Overwhelmed by nothingness. I’m sitting in a bench I
used to know perfectly well. And then walking fast,
faster and faster until I run right into you.
I fall. I fall in love, I'm going to fall into pieces,
I fall, ache afterwards.
Now I’m bathing myself in the coldness of the sea.
It’s soothing and I think I like it.
La increíble música de Beach House, tan enamorada de su último disco…
Y como siempre, Erlend Øye… En cualquiera de sus presentaciones.
This one sits all morning
beside the picture window,
staring out at the lawn
which in these situations
is always under a sheet of ice,
even in June. The girl is wearing
her quilted robe, gloves,
fur-lined slippers. Still she can't
get warm. Her mother gets hot
just watching her, so she goes out
for groceries,makes a great show
when she returns of rattling
the brown paper bags she saves
to line the bird cage.
Now she is running water,
peeling melons, humming, arranging
daisies. We who are watching
want the mother to quit making noise,
to stop chopping fruit, to leave
the kitchen. We want her to walk
down the hall to the closet
where wool blankets are stored.
We want her to gather five or six,
the solids, the stripes,
the MacGregor plaids and tuck them
under her daughter's legs, saving one
for her feet and one for her thin shoulders.
Now we want her to heat water for tea,
bring in wood and quick
before her daughter freezes
seal all the windows
against the stray, chill peal of bells.
-Dannye Romine Powell
lace lace lace lace. =)
