10.29.2026 – we guess no angels

we guess no angels
are contented to be blind
things may not be seen

Adapted from the poem, The Jig of Forslin by Conrad Aiken (The Four Seas Company: Boston, 1916) in Part IV: (1) where Mr. Aiken writes:

Now, unless persuaded by searching music
Which suddenly opens the portals of the mind,
We guess no angels,
And are contented to be blind.
Let us blow silver horns in the twilight.
And lift our hearts to the yellow star in the green,
To find, perhaps, if while the dew is rising,
Clear things may not be seen.

Stuck in the loop.

Do over.

Do over.

Do over.

Do loop.

Do loop.

Loop.

Death spiral.

Never ends.

Now, unless persuaded by searching music

Which suddenly opens the portals of the mind,

We guess no angels,

And are contented to be blind.

Let us blow silver horns in the twilight.

And lift our hearts to the yellow star in the green,

To find, perhaps, if while the dew is rising,

Clear things may not be seen.