Mary Szybist
Without you my air tastes like nothing. For you I hold my breath.Collection: Air
There’s plenty that poetry cannot do. But the miracle, of course, is how much it can do, how much it does do.Collection: Miracle
I do not believe in the beauty of falling.Collection: Believe
If I could/bind myself to this moment, to the slow//snare of its scent/what would it matter if I became//just the flutter of page/in a text someone turns//to examine me/in the wrong color?Collection: Color
Days go by when I do nothing but underline the damp edge of myself.Collection: Damp