Manuscript upon manuscript, day upon day, consecutive separations from what we love,
winter is approaching . . . .
---Maria Gabriela Llansol, Na Casa de Julho e Agosto / In the House of July and August, trans. from the Portuguese by DK.
It is, it is, even at the height of summer. The dead cicada in the sun brings its first intimation --- and I already feel its icy paradise in the bones.
The lurking nostalgia awaiting me.
If only it stayed away a little longer. If only ---
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