Sep 5, 2018 · 1 min read
It seems so wrong when I read this poem that we don’t even know the same night sky. I have, however, seen the unicorn’s horn, if the Catholic Nun, who was the curator of the little museum, assured me that it was only a narwhale’s tusk.
No doubt she was right, but the people in the Middle Ages who saw what I saw had no way of knowing that.
Connection, where you can find it, even if it’s only through a poem is so precious.
