On the Far Road
Hands wrapp’d ’round a warm cup — faceless night, nameless fire. . [ 1533 ]
Hands wrapp’d ’round a warm cup — faceless night, nameless fire. . [ 1533 ]
It seems these older pieces are coming together in a way that makes them read as if they’re being written now, one giving rise to the next in a natural progression. I realize this is my impression. I don’t know if it strikes you that way. But I think this feeling is partly due to the pieces I am writing now — those which stand alone, and those which serve […]