The Long Body of the Dream

Prose poems culminating in:We weep for the cities of Antares as we do for the Minoans. We weep for our own loss, that we were there, and now we are here, and the next still on the bobbin, and the treadle still on the interregnum sea. We weep for how deep in our own body we feel what it is we know. Not what we want. Nor what we desire. It’s what we know. What we know we know. To set it square, right; to come out of this undiminished