“If Springtime crawls out of the wild mouths of flowers, then surely, Winter crawls out of mine.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Winter is already a lost shape, forgotten in the ground. Instead, here is Spring with all the grace of a woman smoothing out her apron.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“I know my breasts, small as plums, would win no blue ribbons. But in your hands they tremble and fill with song like plump,… — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Prayer is a many fingered and kaleidoscopic thing—it folds and unfolds inside of you. It enters the many rooms you cannot enter.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“If the sun rolled back like an eye, it would see the mind of God.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“If Springtime crawls out of the wild mouths of flowers, then surely, Winter crawls out of mine.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“There are bones waiting for names in the graveyards. Even the sun above us is dying, one landed repetition of light at a time.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Consider the road, long and forked as the Devil’s own tongue. Consider the Devil, burning every bridge; Placing in every tree a black bird.… — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Consider my Lover; the yellow church of his skin, the clean wells of his ears; How the notes of a song come to him… — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“That dandy, the sky, enters blue-suited sun like a scotch in hand.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Darkness moves like a pack of wild dogs. The wind moves like a wounded animal. The ground must be full of teeth by now.” — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Winter is already a lost shape, forgotten in the ground. Instead, here is Spring with all the grace of a woman smoothing out her… — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Consider, O Lord, how You sit atop the sky; like a man in a glass bottom boat. Consider sky elsewhere; worn thin as a… — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
“Consider, O Lover, my throat white as cigarette paper. The crushed lavender of my knuckles. My heart, a dulled needle threaded through too many… — Cecilia Llompart Copy Share Image
