Winter 1954 • Vol. XVI No. 1 Poetry |

Find

Diligent in the burnt fields above the seaThe boy searches for what, sticks,Cans, he walks like a riderThe rough and stumpy ground. And finds all morning while the sunTravels to crest, a blooming fullness of day,Just one ant-paste spike, rusted.Says the boy with relish, Poison. Often at night his fears have told him theseDooms to find in the hills, and his heart lightensTo find them there in fact, black as intended,But small enough.

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Diligent in the burnt fields above the seaThe boy searches for what, sticks,Cans, he walks like a riderThe rough and stumpy ground. And finds all morning while the sunTravels to […]

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Diligent in the burnt fields above the seaThe boy searches for what, sticks,Cans, he walks like a riderThe rough and stumpy ground. And finds all morning while the sunTravels to […]

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