this is just one of the things he can’t see

That soil is the sun’s piety. Sure, it could be a grave of secret images— a skin so dry and blown so far away, that even the knight, qua knight, qua the poetry itself, must be at a loss, qua explanation, to explain it— but it isn’t that. It can’t be that. You might asContinue reading “this is just one of the things he can’t see”