Petit Sphinx Gardien by Leonor Fini, 1943-44. Oil on canvas.
What is it that wounds and also heals, disappears and reappears, hides and reveals. Sphinx, I dare not give the word for fear that it will then have power over me in the invocation of its name.
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About thepoetsglass
Professor, poet, philosophical dilettante, plus some other impressively heady alliterations. Instructional designer and copywriter. Cognitive neuroscientist by night. Self-diagnosed coffee addict, sometime dancer, brooding bibliophile, and an always salty sailor.
The Poet's Glass 