Imago: For David Malouf

Who knows by what mysterious means the body moves to its ends? (David Malouf, An Imaginary Life) Half right, Ovid: we metamorphose, yet Not so wildly. There are leaps which we may Never take, gates which bar the backwards way. Infinitesimal, our movements, but breath Charges with possibility each step. We perish like beasts, toContinue reading “Imago: For David Malouf”