This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
Further on DownThe vine leaves cup their copper sulphate spray
The mute plums loosen here. A swallowtail
Crawls by a hornet and a flat
Beetle varnished like a green toenail.
But hill should come over hill, bay over bay.
And the mist hide what we be the first to chart -
Here the only goodness is the sweat
Falling forward as the body leans to the pick.
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