Poetry

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Poem | Weasel

When the hound loosed her ragged clamor, / and the rifle its seed, surely his hubris / was forgivable as he let his pursuit / see him in his tawny glamor
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Enchanter

Marie Ponsot was endowed with genius and its astonishing sweep, swiftness, and power. She passed away with seven books of poetry and numerous awards.
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Poem | First Love

In the country ruins / Of two lost souls / Around which the years / Of neglect and growth / Crumbled stone and mortar / Now made entry impossible
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Poem | *

These walls become sails, their corners / opening as if this pillow / is reaching out where two should be.
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