…loneliness contained
much of the world, and infected the rest.Sadness was the rest; engrossed in it, rapt,
I thought it must be what was called soul.Don’t souls, rapt in themselves, ravish themselves?
Wasn’t I rapt? Wasn’t I ravaged?—C. K. Williams, from “Of Childhood the Dark,” in The Singing (Bloodaxe, 2003)
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