The Death of the Frontier by Wayne Miller

It is during sleep that the distinction between good men and bad is least apparent. —Aristotle In the dream, we wandered farther into our thoughts, toward the waters at their edge, the overhanging cliffs— we forded rivers, sometimes snow fell on the squat cactuses, the taut canvas covers; it slipped through the steam bursting from… Continue reading The Death of the Frontier by Wayne Miller