04.06.2008

The Fossil Garden (a poem by Emily Wilson)

Some spare relief
of sedges so many

million years old.
As if articles

of faith were
unnumbered. As if

the seminal
mind could be prized

from its berth.
In the intricate

underworld birds
are abstracts of

collapse without ground.
You come to some end.

And love that season
travels hungry

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