WhetherAligned with the mechanismwhereby the spirit is borne aloftthrough song comes againthe question: whether. And not soothedso much as opened by the boysoprano's Sanctus, what movesin the mind as the throat constrictsin sympathy, one note peeledfrom the last, fine as paper slippedfrom a garlic bulb, veined, translucent, is whether-as ifwound through the spiralingamplitude, purpled, fretted, one voice suspendedin concentration of prayer or terrorwills itself above faltering, more perfect since time mustsoon break it. And made it.Whether and by whatever impossiblearrangement of stars,...

WhetherAligned with the mechanismwhereby the spirit is borne aloftthrough song comes againthe question: whether. And not soothedso much as opened by the boysoprano's Sanctus, what movesin the mind as the throat constrictsin sympathy, one note peeledfrom the last, fine as paper slippedfrom a garlic bulb, veined, translucent, is whether-as ifwound through the spiralingamplitude, purpled, fretted, one voice suspendedin concentration of prayer or terrorwills itself above faltering, more perfect since time mustsoon break it. And made it.Whether and by whatever impossiblearrangement of stars,...