The work of the eyes is done.
Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.
Rainer Maria Rilke, Turning-point: Miscellaneous Poems 1912-1926
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My friend, I am not what I seem.
Seeming is but a garment I wear — a care-woven garment that protects me from thy questionings and thee from my negligence.
The "I" in me, my friend, dwells in the house of silence, and therein it shall remain for ever more, unperceived, unapproachable.
Khalil Gibran, The Madman, 1918
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intermediary sentinels
forgotten souls prowl and stutter.
dust veiled echoes
time forged tapestry
her ashen veneer torn, bar a helix suture.
from within, a still, penetrating stare
sorrow lurking like a lost augury.
ruined, not dead, she whispers
a slow, staggered refrain.
the silent chatter
deafening.
Guy Dickinson, Peripheral, 2017
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Seen from this high,
The fields have a terrible monotony.
Randall Jarrell, Field and Forest, 1971
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"And this also," said Marlow suddenly,
"has been one of the dark places of the earth."
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness, 1899
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Gales brandished the half-denuded boughs and whirled the leaves in madcap companies about the roads. The whole world sounded.
A roaring and a rustle and a creak was everywhere; and dust and dead leaves eddied in the gateways.
Nan Shepherd, The Quarry Wood, 1928
