Sliced in two like a flatfish, each of us is perpetually hunting for the matching half of himself.
Sliced in two like a flatfish, each of us is perpetually hunting for the matching half of himself.
“Dream over golden dream that secret cist,
Thy heart, O heart of me, doth hold, and mood
On mood of silver, when the day’s light fails,
Say who hath touched the secret heart of thee,
Or who hath known what my heart hath not known”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: The Vision”