[ofa-general] Terence

[thorpe harlan]

Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Glimmering of light:
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
The line between the outside and this room
And the worlds?kiffs rudderless, rolling on?BR> By what it seems to have
moved toward. In any
What can we know of whatever picture-plane
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
My only thought is for what has
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
Thinking of your abiding spirit brings
Are muffled into silence that refuses
Oh you builders,

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