After Rosemary Dobson

Worn, I long for the simplicity of desert, for Abba Poemen’s knee to rest my sleeping head. I call to heart the peace of silent communion, of neighbour and myself in essential speech. But mind is Baroque in its impulse. Chiaroscuro in substance, it curlicues toward ceilings, rhizomatic and elaborate, frantic in its downward andContinue reading “After Rosemary Dobson”