( me / via )

P. 66 of 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑜𝑡 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑.

“…day by day
New pollen on the lily-petal grows,
And still more labyrinthine buds the rose.”

—Sordello

"...they have roots sunk into the deep of things and penetrate the essence."

“The moment the incense goes
out. The mask in time. Desert
Ubar that was swallowed up;
walls where scarlet ivy was.
Let me carry the five-wick
lamp & balance a sixgun
against the math of qcebo,
Ubar that the sands reclaim.”

—Luther Futhark, Secrets of Winning Langpo (1977)

Reminds me of a discussion (i only heard of, secondhand) between two local poets, on how small is too small a small town to use in a poem. In poetry, details are everything. Whether you are being read by erudite academics or 21c silicon-bumpkins, sooner or later some known things will fade & some will entirely be lost. That isn't for the poem to worry. What's realest at the time of writing is the name to use.