Claire Fanger
In the dreaming Netherlands
A man I've never seen
Writes to me of Levy-Bruhl.
I want him on his knees.
Ille intemeratus est,
Et maculata sum.
His virtue is my wickedness;
It draws me like the sun.
In arguments more muscular
I'm fixed in my release
By words transparent as the air
And salty as the sea;
Attached by what divides us,
Inflexible as grace,
No less the broad Atlantic
Than the unimagined face.
