It pleases him how Spell is how the word is made but also, in the hands of the magician, how the world is changed. One letter separates Word from World, and that letter is like...

Have trembled beneath the pressure of a light beam.

from the prose poem “The Universe Thrums on regardless” in my book SPAN.We are almost nothing in the night. Reduced to warm blobs and the sound of breathing. There is comfort in that.

Now is History as fast as the mind remembers.