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This poem is taken from PN Review 49, Volume 12 Number 5, May - June 1986.

In Anatolia Christopher Middleton

Slit eye, so young, in your place,
I mean no harm, but see you
And am close, in this light, so
Close. Food, knives, a red floor peak
And are gone in your flesh glow. The curve
Of a bird comes back to me.

Yes, it was big, as birds go. Blue wings,
A throat, I think, rain-rose, and a crest.
All at once it flew out of no place.
It perched on a plinth of white stone
To flute the one song it knew.

Noon: heat in this old town spent
Long breaths on rock. Wells dry. A few
Cubes of shade. Candid weeds made sure
The song could last. Pure notes
Go well with dust; in the doom of that high place
Time showed its drift.
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