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This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.

An Orange of Cloves Alison Brackenbury
Clove-scent: the dark room where the lovers lie
A closet smelling both of must and musk,
Which makes the head faint: rawer and more old
Than pale-flowered stocks which scent the dusk.

Cavern of dark I entered first: I thought
I have danced here, and to a golden lute.
Branched velvet, rushes, gallows in the sunlight-

sense shudders till it glimpses in a space

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