Through many and reportless archives we will now call her back ,from her stone by profaning of search, from the oblivion of a young poet archive, from an atavism the breath we all feel on our nightly skin.

Her poems would not now go reportless both for her themes and for a loneliness of blank screen, a wide sky of reporting where stone hid many reportless worms crawling ,from folds of a dissolved mind as letters on a yellow paper, end to end.

(A digital archive of Emily Dickinson’s poems is now available as open access at


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