February 2011
6 posts
Of All the Dead That Have Come to Me, This Once
I have never written against the dead. I would open my shirt to them and say yes, the white cones still making sugary milk, but when Grandfather’s gold pocketwatch came in by air over the Rockies, over the dark yellow of the fields and the black rivers, with Grandmother’s blank face pressed against his name in the back, I...
January 2011
6 posts
This is the way we summon one another, but it is not the way we call upon the Name. We stand in rags, we beg for tears to dissolve the immovable landmarks of hatred. How beautiful our heritage, to have this way of speaking to eternity, how bountiful this solitude, surrounded, filled, and mastered by the Name, from which all things arise in splendour, depending one upon the other.
— Leonard...
