The muse of history
I. CLIO “let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth” The past’s fantasia cannot hold or let us go. Flycatcher catching itself in the pool’s glint gaze, Samarkand where Tamerlane hewed his bloody thread, unspooling across the hacked-to-pieces field, a triple axle splitting Clio’s cataract, muddy then clear, the opal of a rain-sheened … More The muse of history