At the confluence of the Delaware
and the Little Delaware I fished
without result.
I cast my lure time
after time into the
tumult.
My friend threw flies. I
threw a Phoebe, until
evening called a halt.
We talked about Nothing:
Zen and Gorgias.
The darkness dwelt.
The bats fluttered. The
stars poked thru a vast
fabric like a quilt.
—Kirby Olson
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Might Does Not Always Make Right, or Even Sense
The “Melian Dialogue,” from Thucydides’s classic History of the Peloponnesian War, is the foundational text of the realist…
How Bad Bunny Mogged George Bush
On Sunday night, Americans had two options for the Super Bowl halftime show. The official NFL show…
The Protestant Mind
The following is an excerpt from the first edition of The Protestant Mind, a newsletter from First Things. We invite…
