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Tag Archives: Patricia Nelson
They boom in this tall, indifferent place: those moon-colored nights like water in a long white ravel of river. To see them you must pass the edge, throbbing animals that run on curves of claw, moaning, lifting their dark mouths … Continue reading
At the end I will come to a place. A place I know and do not know. It rests in the heat of my memory like a scarlet reptile. Its sounds are under me like round hooves. I am full … Continue reading
Oh lips and lops and women in the middle of their shadows walking wide by wide. They are stopping by the yellow, loosened roses, lean on the roundness of air. Oh they seem to blow, rise and widen, ride the … Continue reading
They walk on the stones, those heavy, shade-throwing animals with a beat of heat and cool. The stones bear both their closeness and their tall apartness, their noise, their breakage of sky. Flying is simple like a wish to be … Continue reading
When you come to the last edge, lean your ear. Name and drop an image still as glass: the thing that you are not. Listen to its falling oval. It curves and swims, a mote of light and mirror. Float … Continue reading
He is old in the world of magic. The stillness in his face moves forces tethered in the light like pale horses. His spine is cold and narrow with edges made of green light, the tapered sorrow of the willow. … Continue reading