Now this must be the sweetest place
From here to heaven’s end;
The field is white and flowering lace,
The birches leap and bend,
The hills, beneath the roving sun,
From green to purple pass,
And little, trifling breezes run
Their fingers through the grass.
So good it is, so gay it is,
So calm it is, and pure.
A one whose eyes may look on this
Must be the happier, sure.
But me- I see it flat and gray
And blurred with misery,
Because a lad a mile away
Has little need of me.
Ah. Sublime beauty. Entitled ‘Landscape’, she tells us this ‘poem has been removed’. And who did so? And why? The ‘copyright’ persons. Nameless, faceless. Yet exerting wicked power, ‘insistent’, the power to elide, delete, remove… kill? God-like power. Omnipotent, but also impotent because He can only remove, cannot add. The landscape of a maddened deity, angered by His own bumbling, He strikes down His creations blindly, leaving only empty blasted fields of nothingness. Not even an echo remains. But there is hope, too: an ‘archive’. Where? We must search, find it. It will hold all the secrets, no doubt. Let us go and seek it out together.