” . . not even the rain has such small hands”

Monday March 17 – e e cummings – “. . . the voice of your eyes . . . ”

I don’t know why e e cummings love poem caught my attention over the weekend; perhaps because I ended last week worn out and have been loving time to sleep in, work out, take another nap, get some shopping done, after a week of slamming work. But it really doesn’t matter why. “Somewhere” is always worth another reading.

Try it out loud and leave some time when you’ve finished for stillness and breathing.

Have a good work week.

john sj

p.s. Weather.com suggests we might lose lots of snow this week {i.e., warm temps (32, 45, 48, 44, 39); maybe some rain Wednesday to wash some salt away; breezy winds Wed and Thursday to vacuum up snow melt. Could be sweet.

p.p.s. Here’s the post for today.


Somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

e e cummings

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