OCR Text |
Show TERRA-INCOGNITA Out of the morning dark, the pale self-generating light of the asphodel moons against the oriel casement, the green-stained brick- and then that papery sound starts up again in the maple trees. A month-long fog still hangs from the leaves, as thick as smoke from torches dipped in pitch...so thick our current worries don't divide us anymore. By evening, the air grows heavier still-we hardly notice a sadness now has entered it, hardly notice some other love has taken hold-as though we'd drifted into one of those blank spaces on ancient maps, that terra-incognita cartographers once called "strange beauties." |