配图 / Gordan Hunt

配图 / Gordan Hunt To the Sea Sometimes when you start to ramble or rather when you feel you are starting to ramble you will say Well, now I’m rambling though I don’t think you ever are. And if you ever are I don’t really care. And not just because I and everyone really at times falls into our own unspooling which really I think is a beautiful softness of being human, trying to show someone else the color of all our threads, wanting another to know everything in us we are trying to show them but in the specific, in the specific of you here in this car that you are driving and in which I am sitting beside you with regards to you and your specific mouth parting to give way to the specific sweetness that is the water of your voice tumbling forthlike I said I don’t ever really mind how much more you might keep speaking as it simply means I get to hear you speak for longer. What was a stream now a river. Anis Mojgani #诗歌

配图 / Magnus

配图 / Magnus Beirut, My Birthmark Beirut, my birthmark What came with you, Beirut？ Bullets before my mother's milk Beirut, you are under my skin, split bit by bit You melt into sunset on blistered rooftops It hurts to touch you, Beirut You are a lesson I will never learn It hurts to love you, Beirut But I still knock at your door at 4:00 a.m. With the neon lights in your neighborhood are dwindling when the political chants in your square are soothed I will stay outside your door I know you will never open for me Beirut, I kissed your cracked sidewalks And slept huddled against your bullet ridden walls You and I, it's a love story for the books Dima Mikayel Matta #诗歌

配图 / Living Mountain

配图 / Living Mountain POEM Day and night come hand in hand like a boy and a girl pausing only to eat wild berries out of a dish painted with pictures of birds. They climb the high ice-covered mountain, then they fly away. But you and I don’t do such things We climb the same mountain; I say a prayer for the wind to lift us but it does no good; you hide your head so as not to see the end Downward and downward and downward and downward is where the wind is taking us; I try to comfort you but words are not the answer; I sing to you as mother sang to me Your eyes are closed. We pass the boy and girl we saw at the beginning; now they are standing on a wooden bridge; I can see their house behind them; How fast you go they call to us, but no, the wind is in our ears, that is what we hear And then we are simply falling And the world goes by, all the worlds, each more beautiful than the last; I touch your cheek to protect you Louise Glück #诗歌

配图 / Shaza Wajjokh

配图 / Shaza Wajjokh Come from the Heart When I was a young man my daddy told me A lesson he learned It was a long time ago If you want to have someone to hold onto You're gonna have to learn to let go You got to sing like you don't need the money Love like you'll never get hurt You got to dance like nobody's watchin' It's gotta come from the heart If you want it to work Now here is the one thing I keep forgettin' When everything is falling apart In life as in love you know I need to remember There's such a thing as trying too hard You got to sing like you don't need the money Love like you'll never get hurt You got to dance like nobody's watchin' It's gotta come from the heart If you want it to work You got to sing sometimes like you don't need the money Love sometimes like you'll never get hurt You got to dance Dance dance like nobody's watchin' It's gotta come from the heart if you want it to work Richard Leigh, Susanna Clark #诗歌

配图 / Sergey Neamoscou

配图 / Sergey Neamoscou First Time Brushing Teeth Next to You When I say first time, that implies there will be a second, a fourth, a ninety-ninth. From far away our teeth must look like Tic Tacs, Chiclets, moons of a faraway planet. Nocturnal animals can smell better at night because scent lingers when the air is still, and so I smell the mint of our mouths but also the spill of peppers from the salsa dropped on your shirt. The greasy sidewalks we walked an hour earlier. Hotel soap freshly bubbled and wet in the dish. When I root through the thicket or the brush pile, my fur turns electric striped and tail-tumbled. I foam at the mouth. The mask on my face means bandit. Turns out I love the dark. My little paws want to grab everything and wash it. Aimee Nezhukumatathil #诗歌

配图 / Andrew Macara

配图 / Andrew Macara Children's Song We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge. And though you probe and pry With analytic eye, And eavesdrop all our talk With an amused look, You cannot find the centre Where we dance, where we play, Where life is still asleep Under the closed flower, Under the smooth shell Of eggs in the cupped nest That mock the faded blue Of your remoter heaven. R. S. Thomas #诗歌