I see a poem as a multi-coloured strip behind peeling plaster, in separate, shining fragments.
ยท
I see a poem as a multi-coloured strip behind peeling plaster, in separate, shining fragments.
“The mark had been made for me and the door flung open; the passage, gathering up all the elements of the troubled time, had been itself quite a scene, quite enough of one, and I had become aware with it of a rich accession of possibilities.”
Henry James