Spring 2004 • Vol. XXVI No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 2004 |

Hymns and Fragments

These are the gloves—of doeskin—he had specially made, after, and never wore.                                   He'd shot the animal himself—unfairly, it seemed at the time; still seems so: crouched in a locust tree,                      bow-and-arrow. There had been, he said, no struggle . . . Of his own dying,                                                  he said it was like many things, but mostly like watching a harbor slowly empty of the ships it held,             &n

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Carl Phillips
Carl Phillips is the author of thirteen books of poems, most recently Reconnaissance (FSG, 2015). He teaches at Washington University in St. Louis.

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The Same in Sun as It Felt in Shadow

By Carl Phillips

These are the gloves—of doeskin—he had specially made, after, and never wore.                                   He'd shot the animal himself—unfairly, it seemed at the time; still seems so: crouched in a locust tree, […]

So the Edge of the World

By Carl Phillips

These are the gloves—of doeskin—he had specially made, after, and never wore.                                   He'd shot the animal himself—unfairly, it seemed at the time; still seems so: crouched in a locust tree, […]

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