I’m kicking back in Charles’s office just watching the February snow
Settle over Charlottesville. On the desk, Novalis’s Philosophical Writings,
& I think, How cool is that! Then out of nowhere comes this notion…
A villanelle!—all of its lines lifted straight from Novalis. So, really:
Every word is a word to conjure with. What every spirit calls—another such
Appears. (Only the individual is interesting.) In the truest sense, philosophy
Is a caress. Sympathy of the sign with the signified. Every word is a word
To conjure with. The spirit is perpetually proving itself. Magic is different
From philosophy, & forms a world & art of its own. (Only the individual
Is interesting.) Soul & body touch in sex—chemically—electrically—like fire
…the way to be everywhere at home. Every word is a word to conjure with.
Everything that is elect refers to mysticism. Everything mystical is personal.
(Only the individual is interesting.) We shall understand the world when
We understand ourselves. Time is inner space—space
Is outer time. Every word is a word to conjure with. (Only the individual is
Interesting.) So, really: There you are. A villanelle by Novalis, each word lit
By his belated conjurer, lost in the inner time of a late winter snow.