"Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wildness is a necessity..." --John Muir, 1898
You glanced at me with iridescence Like wings of damselflies Limned on spinning drops of mercury— Heaving phosphors encircling apertures that Snap shut like event horizons Leaving in atrophied pathos The universe me When you look away
No comments:
Post a Comment