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The castle crumbled
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PAPER PURSUIT
Whipping woven reigns,
I sit straight in the chariot,
Whistle and meditate.
A song serene in forest breeze
Rustles through perfumed leaves,
Hushing my haunted memories.
The two black stallions
Trot upon the cobble path,
Strong and steadfast.
The sun dips down to hide
Behind the mountainous rubble
Of sharp, fragmented horizon.
When the owls’ eyes glint
And the silver beasts come out,
I will need to think of her.
I am overwhelmed by this;
I am overwhelmed by this; just overwhelmed. In these few lines, you have created an entire world, different than ours; a background of mystery; and a foreground that raises more questions than it answers. Please---please---please, don't ever (like James Dickey in mid-career) seek to slacken or loosen your enormous talent. This kind of poem is your forte and, if I may put it more tritely, the domain of which you are one of the masters. I have said that your work reminds me of Mallarme's poetry; it also reminds me of some of Lord Dunsany's tales, and those of his chief imitator, H. P, Lovecraft.
Starward