coming.”
-Pablo Neruda
Image: Spike Mafford, the black dots spell out the title, The
Image: Spike Mafford, the black dots spell out the title, The
Meadow
Title: Basso
Terresa Wellborn
Soul is the place,
stretched like a surface of millstone grit between
body and mind,
where such necessity grinds itself out
We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones and silence.
-Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Tristram Shandy does not want to be born, because he does not want to die. Every means and every weapon is valid to save oneself from death and time. If a straight line is the shortest distance between two fated and inevitable points, digressions will lengthen it; and if these digressions become so complex, so tangled and tortuous, so rapid as to hide their own tracks, who knows - perhaps death may not find us, perhaps time will lose its way, and perhaps we ourselves can remain concealed in our shifting hiding places.
… the silence
Holds with its gloved hand
The wild hawk of the mind.
Amazingly,
I am too the memory of a sword
and of a solitary, falling sun,
turning itself to gold, then gray, then nothing.
I am the one who sees the approaching ships
from harbor. And I am the dwindled books,
the rare engravings worn away by time;
the one who envies those already dead.
Stranger to be the woman who interlaces
such words as these, in some room in a house.