This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.
Breakfast
The pasture is a faded white.
Even the food palls
At the mountain's height by the spring,
A loaf in halves, unwrapped
From a blue cloth.
Oil and salt,
Raw ham. Sitting apart
To let the horse drink unscared
They brood what dream was broken
...
Even the food palls
At the mountain's height by the spring,
A loaf in halves, unwrapped
From a blue cloth.
Oil and salt,
Raw ham. Sitting apart
To let the horse drink unscared
They brood what dream was broken
...
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