Am I pressing forward like a knight on a great journey, moving slowly through the forest in my scant armour, anxious before every clearing, aware that at any moment I might be overcome by my enemies? Or have I set myself in a little cottage with a mean fire in a dirty stove with smoke staining the windows? And am I digging through the ashes looking for something which won’t be there—a glint of gold or silver or something else entirely, smoked, mesmirizing, complete & occupying… (—& is this death itself?)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s