Saturday, June 16, 2012

read a good poem: muse

MUSE
after reading Rilke

No angel speaks to me.
And though the wind
plucks the dry leaves
as if they were so many notes
of music, I can hear no words.

Still, I listen. I search
the feathery shapes of clouds
hoping to find the curve of a wing.
And sometimes, when the static
of the world clears just for a moment

a small voice comes through,
chastening. Music
is its own language, it says.
Along the indifferent corridors
of space, angels could be hiding.

--Linda Pastan via washingtonart.com




midtown nyc, june 7 2012
all photos © anita aguilar

Sunday, June 10, 2012

pretty city, paris 2012: night drive

from the back of a paris taxi...
cafe des beaux arts, 7 quai malaquais 75006 paris
may 27, 2012

Wednesday, June 6, 2012