Elaine. Abe Edgerton. Clay. With a shutter’s quick clickings, I stopped them, then dealt the divine and its opposite, picture by square picture: the unwinged body in flight—two hooves pushing off, then one, then none—and the pact of that flight: groping forelegs, the horn-sheathed toes thrust out...
• Watched iron filings bristle a magnet. • In his father’s shop, watched an axle’s tip sag over an anvil. • Loved the Fens. • Loved Virgil’s words on young vines, their trellis of elms in the nursery field. ...
