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This poem is taken from PN Review 121, Volume 24 Number 5, May - June 1998.

Three Poems Emma Lew

The Peaks

We awoke and slipped out of the hut the gods had given us.
We crossed the river and fought and dropped and lifted
    again,
standing in our stirrups to coax the mist apart,
and the mountains leapt like lords of the sun-baked ledge.

I wonder, did the agile children love their gentler slopes,
and dawn making the valley a wet tomb?
Dingoes came and took and dangled among the dark leaves.
Black shadow bore the perfume of the peaks.

We were pulling ourselves up over the wind,
with thrilling smoothness to the summits that drop so
    straight.
The trees seemed always to be in our way,
falling swift and deep, foaming with us.

It is a strange thing when an astronomer tells us that the
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