the last of nights
restless, till
poetry
Messenger
If words come to the page
Synthetic A Posteriori
No time to lose, none at all, my dear:
The Kings
Once we reigned as one.
Recollections of Vivien
With all Borceliande pressing around
The Betrayal of Arthur
She was the garden, she became the tree
Elaine in Arcadia
Whenever two embrace, I am third
The Rider
There is no puase, no rest;
The Apotheosis of Guinevere
The mirror opposites, pale grief, dark sin
The King
They thought he was not dead
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Current Issue: No. 301
