Omphalos, Again

Imagine that the summer’s stringencies Have found themselves alone In a garden, so full of bone Petunias and bone pansies That the Omphalos stone, full Of captive water, full Of bio-mass, with its Subterranean flow—exhibits , In lieu of flowers—cannot pretend To be our final fortune’s final end. Suppose instead the garden is an egg,Continue reading “Omphalos, Again”