Sublime

Back in Brooklyn, a poet-nurse to the Union dying writes: A leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars. Jørgen never reads these words.

Strange to think of his voice still flying through the air, already a country away, growing weaker every mile.

maverick.

“What a world,”

they wondered at how the stories spilled out on the way, for they never sounded the same repeated in their own kitchens.

“Lachrimae”

“Well, that’s the way I am,” Edith said. “He’ll have to get used to it, that’s all. That’s the way I am.” “That’s the way she is,” the other woman said.

En regardant au sud en direction des grosses étoiles je savais que là-bas s’étendait le Santa Ana Desert, que là-bas sous les étoiles un homme pareil à moi gisait dans une cabane ; un homme que le désert avalerait plus tôt que moi, et ce que je tenais à la main c’était son dernier effort, l’expression de sa lutte contre le silence implacable vers

To die is to lose the self and rejoin the rest. He had kept himself, and lost the rest.