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  • The Torn Fabric of the Universe
  • Floyd Skloot (bio)

A Unified Field

Because the night is clear and cold, because the moon is new, and Mars so close it seems to be in bloom, because his mind imagines room for wonder, he sees everything hold together a moment under the stars. He knows it will not last but loves to see the world in balance, dark forces merging with light, the drift toward chaos stilled by the heft of harmony. A unified field. Above all, this is how he leaves his mark.

Now night bends toward dawn as light toward color. Time is nothing we believe it to be, but at the edge of sight his faith sings beyond the things we see. The torn fabric of the universe folds over to heal itself. The beating heart’s energy echoes the brain’s bold leaps. This is when the mystery starts to reveal itself, saying there are no answers, only better questions, new beginnings. There is nowhere else to go, no one else to ask, and nothing less to do. [End Page 202]

Paul Klee at Sixty

Slowly the stillness comes upon his hand. As he watches, color bleeds from the tip of his brush, leaving him only a thick black line. He has dreamt it time and again, but this is no dream. He knows he is sick beyond all imagining now. A land of loss looms, and is the place he must walk this tired line, which thins as it wavers toward the vanishing point. He cannot rest. As his skin shrinks, as his muscles soften, what he most wants to bring to life is death as it looks to him here, pure fire often blazing in the coldest place. He savors it as he waits for movement to begin. [End Page 203]

Floyd Skloot

Floyd Skloot, a man of letters who has often written prose and poetry for this magazine, will have an essay on Hardy in the fall number.

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