To conceive of the weave of the dark
is to lift forward the cloth
with a texture of silk, or wool, or nothing,
melting into the air, where the mind
is forever pulling for the edge, finding none,
or by the feel of the cloth, melting
away, like water from the ice
that was never cold, from a form
the mind could never hold:
it slipped away too fast.
And this edge, vanishing like a dream
of time, finds a place to hold fast
for a while, a gravity close 
to the forgotten balance of the waters
of the womb, neither warm, nor cold;
the horror of drowning, suspended;
the ebbing ghost of nothingness,
formless in the world of darkness,
that can, for its time, offer
a drink, sheltered, cool and centering,
shield against the loss of the dark,
and the shapes, and landscapes,
like time, soon to slip forward
from it.

August 5, 2013    |     Volume LXV, No. 14

  • Face of the lawless bureaucracy.
  • Obama’s end-run around the Senate, and the Constitution.
  • Felix Rodriguez, freedom fighter and patriot.
  • Hospitals are to blame for obscene health-care costs.
Books, Arts & Manners
  • Charles Crawford reviews Margaret Thatcher: The Authorized Biography: From Grantham to the Falklands, by Charles Moore .
  • Daniel Foster reviews The Founding Conservatives: How a Group of Unsung Heroes Saved the American Revolution, by David Lefer.
  • Edward Feser reviews Conscience and Its Enemies: Confronting the Dogmas of Liberal Secularism, by Robert P. George.
  • Florence King reviews Rose Kennedy: The Life and Times of a Political Matriarch, by Barbara A. Perry.
  • Ross Douthat reviews Joss Whedon’s film Much Ado About Nothing.
The Long View  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Athwart  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Poetry  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Happy Warrior  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .