If Only There Were Stations of the Air is an outcry against human vulnerability and ephemerality: our occupancy of a tiny speck in a universe incomprehensibly vast (and itself not necessarily eternal), and without the comforts of Heaven or Providence; our subjection to change, chance, contagion, catastrophe, cancer, and the loneliness and isolation of remorseless age. Yet the cry comes from the heart of love: of our blithe everyday ordinary happiness...
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Poetry