For the person that you will be, whom perhaps I might not understand. - Jorge Luis Borges, Inscripción I. Her labyrinth A fortnight after you died, I sang your black bones back to shape. In the silence I trusted the dark from whence you came. Now, you are a figure conjured up with light on this page, mere trick of shadows. Who are you, Poet? Whose god can breathe you back to flesh? - Marjorie Evasco, For Maria Kodama’s Other Borges
Posted on: Fri, 25 Apr 2014 05:51:48 +0000
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