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This poem is taken from PN Review 89, Volume 19 Number 3, January - February 1993.

Three Poems Adam Johnson

AT THE LAKE

No god has made him but the sun
Has rolled invisible leaves of fire
Across his shoulder blades and down
His lean long body. Round his feet,
The lake is slung in glinting lines,
Bound for the shadows of his hands.


THE SCAFFOLDERS


   Before I fall awake,
   they have begun to raise
one level of the structure that will take
       a full two days
       to make complete
round three sides of the house across the street.

   Hot, naked to the waist,
   one of athletic build
...


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