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Saturday, July 02, 2005

Barry Schwabsky - Confession Without Confession

I don't see the hour of seeing you.
But pupils polished dark on cold sun
and bare life. Your eyes

or mine? Fixed by sublime attention (planets
gazing at stars) the beautiful
grows nearer. Fractions

of glass where your planets gazing at the moon
find their own sequel: sunken
landscape. Sugar tossed in a lake.

[from nthposition]