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The Palindrome of Three Centuries. This kind of reminds me of "No eye sees the seas I know." But who could cap it?

"DEW ANGELS

I’m raw as mirrored nets.
It is a party met on me.

Open one poem,
dew angels:
it's all infinite.
Rift a carat.

Sad, I hid a star.
a cat, fire, tin; if nil,
last isle gnawed me.

Open one poem,
note my trap
as it is tender,
or rims a warm isle,
gnawed."

--@MerlinaAcevedo

Ghosts.

"For people who are really uprooted there remain only two possible sorts of behavior: either to fall into a spiritual lethargy...or to hurl themselves into some form of activity necessarily designed to uproot, often by the most violent methods, those who are not yet uprooted, or only partly so." --The Need for Roots

More dispatches from the Jean Paul revival. And.