by Jon Thrower
Both snow and summer
But not both, or but.
“Certainly not both or but, their initial tone is disenchanting. And though both is inclusive, the hard aural drum of the b pushes apart, assures exclusivity. As with the meaning of but, which is born to differentiate and divide. A word with two hard doors on either end.
Of course, Not is only soft at the front gate. Odd perhaps how the hard angles of the letter N become so lithe in the mouth. But Not, with its exclusive tight cinch at the end, discouraging as its diction, touchable, initially, like lamb but ultimately harsh and cruel as it slams some tiny little door.
Or, though, or! Or could compete with soft and summer alike in the contest of ease, in the competition of the fleshy and the genial. Or is hardly stout enough to move water at all. Or is just the suggestion of a cell wall between two things that always threaten to seep through to touch tendrils in some quaint embrace. Or is a better name for eyelid. Or is a poured cup of broth. Or is a synonym of sway.”
Pegasus 