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Swithun Cooper
the indolence of man
it is—at its heart—a breaking away
The Seven Ages of Love
And when my Ob-water sense rises when my sea-golden Ob-golden holy sense rises and I wave the holy staff with its seven notches clutched in my goodside hand the hunched holy earth will go all a-tremble
AWOL Imogen Rhia Herrad Swithun CooperIn rural Wales, wandering the dunes west of Pwllheli, John Fuller has carefully composed a letter on the subject of travel: warning against it, wondering about peoples presences and absences, and serenely admiring the Wales of sheep and song. Andrew Wynn Owen has replied with friendly enthusiasm, matching Johns poetic form and his musings on travel. Is it better to risk seeming stay at home, A stick in mud or to pass life scared Of stillnesses? AWOL
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