I love layers, adding them on, peeling them away, making them almost indiscernable. Here I've combined two pictures into one. I wonder how far I can push it.
I ran across Wallace Stevens' The Idea of Order at Key West, and something new about it hits me every time. It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing. She measured to the hour its solitude. She was the single artificer of the world In which she sang. And when she sang, the sea, Whatever self it had, became the self That was her song, for she was the maker. Then we, As we beheld her striding there alone, Knew that there was never a world for her Except the one she sang and, singing, made.