twitter facebook patreon

Once

Life spelled itself in letters, black, tight-lipped: I’ve bled my passions out in spates of ink. The margins bloomed like flowers on a crypt. Once, when my hands were empty, and I dipped them in Night’s waters, there, I seemed to think, life spelled itself in letters, black, tight-lipped. So much was written there, the ...

Lay in a Deep Confusion

The stone was in the ground, the body, as though delivered from mere surface, was out of sight; the unreflective soil lay over it, and that was that. For days, he bore it, grieving sorely but not despairing; death, whose quiet approach had more than once already come near him, to his thinking was not strange: the ...