This conjunction doesn’t even make sense inside my own head yet, but I’m parking them all here for further contemplation. First these two, found in Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space: The Classic Look at How We Experience Intimate Places:
From Paroles pour l’ature, Colette Wartz
Piles of sheets in the wardrobe.
Lavender in the linen.
From Jabadao, Anne de Tourville
The reflection on the old wardrobe
Cast by the live coals of an October twilight
And the opening lyrics from Concrete Blonde’s Days and Days, happened upon again whilst reading Johnette Napolitano‘s lovely Rough Mix:
The dirty leaves are sailing
on a hot wind ocean
and the summer comes
and the summer goes and always has & will
and something somewhere
that you said goes ricochet
all through my head
and flashing like a neon sign
the time stands still
forever, coming all together
at the crossroads of a minute.