Will the light show me what is broken?

I did not get any pictures of the sunset per se, even though it was one of the low-fired kind that always look like scratchboard at this leafless time of year.

( A map through the dark revealing its worth. )

I am just now catching up on the rest of Johnny Flynn and Robert Macfarlane's The Moon Also Rises (2023), whose initial singles I heard around this time last year. It may be even more archaeological and ritual than its predecessor, which I have to say I am really enjoying. I wish I could get the edition of Jacquetta Hawkes' A Land (1951) with Macfarlane's introduction as anything other than an e-book.

And an echo of the ones who've walked before me and joy for the ones who walk beside me

The Mythic Delirium 26th Anniversary Reading was artistically spectacular and emotionally significant and I am now eating a hastily toasted pastrami and Swiss cheese sandwich on the extremely deli-inferior white bread which is the only kind in the house because I had forgotten that participating in a performance through a screen does not actually require less of my energy than being in the room with all the other readers and our audience, although it was entirely worth the effort as the readings hosted by Mike Allen at Readercon always were. I used to see some cross-section of this community of people every year; I had missed them and their voices. It was as good as an anthology aloud. Hestia even put in a professional appearance, hopping onto my lap during one of the first selections. I had never actually counted up the number of poems I had published during the print tenure of Mythic Delirium and it pleases me that it turned out to be thirty-six.