Behind the dying wind and softening rain, silence compels the listener. Since the immense is not an object, it relies on imagination, and so it becomes possible to open the world by seeing more than what appears to be. In the immediate immensity of the shattered forest, piling infinities far from all history of men; a curdling quiet trembles. You’d need a map the size of a given world to make it truly accurate, so the dreamers continue.
***
Notes while reading Gaston Bachelard’s “Intimate Immensity” in The Poetics of Space.
Love the blend of cognitive and emotive here. First line is like a portal into it, as all good first lines should be! Thank you Stacey. Well crafted words. “Curdling” spot on.
Bill, thank you for this.
Love this.
Granny, thank you!
That is a beautiful poem
Thank you for being here and sharing this kindness. : )