Baudelaire, “Correspondences” 1857

Nature is a temple where living pillars over time speak words fused one to one. We journey through a forest of symbols that know us as friends. Line echoes resounding from afar in shadowy and deep unity, vast as night and luminous dawn, perfumes and colors and sounds converging reply. Perfumes fresh as flesh of infants, sweet as oboes, green as prairies –and others, corrupt, rich, triumphant, expanding to the infinity of all things like amber, musk, myrrh, and incense that, singing, transport spirit and sense. Trans. L. Lockridge, April 9, 2020