Brush the summer by

“If you were coming in the fall, 
I ’d brush the summer by 
With half a smile and half a spurn, 
As housewives do a fly. 

If I could see you in a year, 
I ’d wind the months in balls, 
And put them each in separate drawers, 
Until their time befalls. 

If only centuries delayed, 
I ’d count them on my hand, 
Subtracting till my fingers dropped 
Into Van Diemen’s land. 

If certain, when this life was out, 
That yours and mine should be, 
I ’d toss it yonder like a rind, 
And taste eternity. 

But now, all ignorant of the length 
Of time’s uncertain wing, 
It goads me, like the goblin bee, 
That will not state its sting.”
Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

Image

Yet, we wait

“there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled

a space

and even during the
best moments
and
the greatest times
times

we will know it

we will know it
more than
ever

there is a place in the heart that
will never be filled
and

we will wait
and
wait

in that space.”

― Charles Bukowski

Image