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Current prose and poetry, brilliant planets and pale galaxies, flowed by the casement of my garret night after night

The break in my own destiny affords me in retrospect a syncopal kick that I would not have missed for worlds

her high-school-girlish prose could evoke with plangent strength

every whiff of damp leaf, every autumn-rusted frond of fern in the St. Petersburg countryside

my livid light flitted across the six-pillared white portico at the back of my uncle’s mute, shuttered manor