Stele

Stele

Copy Link
Facebook
X (Twitter)
Bluesky
Pocket
Email
Vertigo, itself in air
small hands
there are
also in pattern
becoming scattered
shifts the axes, chances
the stiff wind
this other world
that almost visits
standing in
an empty glass
the light like crystal
I cut myself on air
that finds its difference here
open air, the kind
sharing
across the fields its walking song

Your support makes stories like this possible

From illegal war on Iran to an inhumane fuel blockade of Cuba, from AI weapons to crypto corruption, this is a time of staggering chaos, cruelty, and violence. 

Unlike other publications that parrot the views of authoritarians, billionaires, and corporations, The Nation publishes stories that hold the powerful to account and center the communities too often denied a voice in the national media—stories like the one you’ve just read.

Each day, our journalism cuts through lies and distortions, contextualizes the developments reshaping politics around the globe, and advances progressive ideas that oxygenate our movements and instigate change in the halls of power. 

This independent journalism is only possible with the support of our readers. If you want to see more urgent coverage like this, please donate to The Nation today.

Ad Policy
x