Yesterday, I sat at Joseph Campbell's desk, tracing the deep grains of its dark wood.
"Obviously, it calls for some revisions."

Driving his thoughts over a yellow pad
like Helios hurling his chariot across
the very sky,
                  he lights—

"No more horizons," Campbell wrote," citing Black Elk, in which the Lakota shaman
had a vision of "the central mountain of the world, the highest place." The seer said:
"The central mountain is everywhere."

Thus, the line tells no story; it serves no image. The line itself is
the image, from the low to the high, in the way in which it sings.