Looking/longing/language For Stevie Smith
The figure I'm looking for, the close companion, as I read, as I write, in the inland sea of my mirror (O undulant sight, are you desperate? are you clowning?) - bobs up and down in hollows of doubt, in not quite whelming billows. And yet I put my trust in looking, longing, language, those saving modes of lasting communion I know from past mistakings of terror when way off shore I caught my self not drowning but waving.