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This poem is taken from PN Review 192, Volume 36 Number 4, March - April 2010.

Di Fronte R.F. Langley

The cattle have been driven by routes
through open glades or by tracks through reeds
to arrive here, to make this their stand,
in front of the temple. Have they? Sure
of the temple? The carving movements
of insects might have crumbled the dust
that packs in the joints between slabs. Those
impeccable, fantasy insects.
No actual cattle. Our remarks take
shape near to each other, although
you have ducked into the store for our
provisions. Yet one would have thought that
there was no room for strong polychromes
in the white line-up, Istrian, which
best would serve as a principle of
orchestration, this October, this
...


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