In Madagascar there are moths that sip
tears from sleeping birds. How hushed the wing;
how light the feet; and deft the barbeled tip,
latching the lid! The sleeper feels no sting:
saliva numbs the nerves. A virus goes
from host to host, and when it multiplies
the bird will die. No field researcher knows
its course, which I have glimpsed in Gaia’s eyes.
Goddess, you have drunk too many tears,
and I shall worship you no more. Your drug
ceases to numb my hopes or soothe my fears
that something else exists beyond your bug
and bird-the Lord all beings dimly seek
incarnates in your realm of claw and beak.
JD Vance States the Obvious About Ordo Amoris
We are living, it scarcely needs saying, in unpredictable times. But no one could have imagined that…
Thinking Twice About Re-Enchantment
Since the Enlightenment and the scientific revolution, the story goes, we’ve lived more and more in a…
The Bible Throughout the Ages
The latest installment of an ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein. Bruce Gordon joins in…