Spring 1981 • Vol. III No. 2 Poetry |


There was no moon & the horizon a fire breaking over the black earth & the man on horseback floated into the red plum of the sky & did not hear the boy screaming his name & then there was only the earth & the sky like a clay sea & the boy who believed it was his imperfection the man was leaving. My father always slept in movies & we walked home under the trees & stars without talking & there is an understanding between fathers & sons & death is not something a boy can understand & my father was dying out of his body as I was growing into mine & there was only the black earth & pale summer sky & the horizon like a fire breaking on our heads.

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PHILIP SCHULTZ’s latest books are Living in the Past (Harcourt, 2004) and The Holy Worm of Praise (Harcourt, 2002). He founded and directs the Writers Studio in New York City and lives in East Hampton.

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