December 2009
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Sonnet XCIV by Pablo Neruda.
If I die, survive me with such a pure force you make the pallor and the coldness rage; flash your indelible eyes from south to south, from sun to sun, till your mouth sings like a guitar. I don’t want your laugh or your footsteps to waver; I don’t want my legacy of happiness to die; don’t call to my breast: I’m not there. Live in my absence as in a house. Absence is such a large house that you’ll...
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Then something happened, something difficult to describe. Sitting there, alone in a foreign country far from my job and everyone I know, a feeling came over me. It was like remembering something I’d never known before or had always been waiting for, but I didn’t know what. Maybe it was something I’d forgotten or something I’ve been missing all my life. All I can say is that...
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"The Spirit Says, You Are Nothing" by Larry Lewis.
But you were young, and you had Plenty of time: Going west, You slept on the train and did not smile. Under you the plains widened, turned silver. You slept with your mouth open. You were nothing, You were snow falling through the ribs Of the dead. You were all I had.
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