Like a Kipling hero, he lives for his ordnance
cat
To try to know
Lens
Embarkation: the night balloon
Herr Rilke considers a second helping
One crowded hour of glorious life / Is worth an age without a name.
When half-gods go, / The gods arrive.
La fleur que tu m’avais jetée / Dans ma prison m’était restée
Last May’s light, rephotoshopped
Why has not man a microscopic eye?
But you don’t want to look up the next line from the Essay on Man.