There is a solitude like black mud!
Sitting in this darkness singing,
I can’t tell if this joy
is from the body, or the soul, or a third place.
Robert Bly, “Sitting Alone”, in Six Winter Privacy Poems, in Sleepers Joining Hands
There is a solitude like black mud!
Sitting in this darkness singing,
I can’t tell if this joy
is from the body, or the soul, or a third place.
Robert Bly, “Sitting Alone”, in Six Winter Privacy Poems, in Sleepers Joining Hands