Wherever we walk, we walk
over the silent. Cities
layer on layer,
we know, or never heard of;
whose citizens gave themselves
in sleep to dreams not understood,
saw how far the stars were
and how the moon shrank and went.
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Letter 2
By Meir Wieseltier, translated by Shirley Kaufman
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After Three Days
when she got back the peonies in the crystal bowl had shed a welter dry as ash from hideous bare heads, their slack stems in a liquid faintly foul. She […]
The Blue-Eyed Exterminator
The exterminator has arrived. He has not intruded. He was summoned. At the most fruitless spot, a regiment of the tiniest ants, obviously deluded, have a jetty ferment of undisclosed […]
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