Monday, 29 September 2014

     We only ever think an acre of the anima-mundi
in the dead of night. Like morning mist,
  thought evaporates into ourselves as the sun rises

       and the world reads out the register,
demanding that we say: yes, when our names are called.

   We only ever tell the truth to silence
and when we do, even the silence is dismayed.

That kind of claim — “I’m very limited, and you’re very free” — can mean quite different things depending on tone, context, and motive. Her...