The seasons may turn, the centuries fall away, but Rhododactylos Eos, charming Erigeneia, still holds power to make us pause on the cusp of night and day.

Transit

(Richard Wilbur)

A woman I have never seen before
Steps from the darkness of her town-house door
At just that crux of time when she is made
So beautiful that she or time must fade.

What use to claim that as she tugs her gloves
A phantom heraldry of all the loves
Blares from the lintel? That the staggered sun
Forgets, in his confusion, how to run?

Still, nothing changes as her perfect feet
Click down the walk that issues in the street,
Leaving the stations of her body there
Like whips that map the countries of the air.

and a merry tl;dr to you too

I feel the same way every time I make the border crossing from Fremont to Wallingford.

it's weird to realize, contrary to that sign, that there is no one in the entire state of Oregon that loves me

Obviously you didn't have your kids with you. They will fuck everything up eight ways to Sunday and rip the rosy bloom right off a milkmaid's cheek. They are a constant reminder that the universe is a set-up and you're the mark.