The intimate common
Hello my friends. I bring you this month another poem, which I wrote as a kind of inversion of the weariness we are collectively feeling right now. The weariness stems, it seems, from imagining ourselves situated deep within this mess, tiny and wretched amid the tangle. What if instead we situate the mess within ourselves? As an intricate puzzle at the center of that familiar chamber we each visit time and again, one after another, but always alone? The poem is called Sea that has become known.