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This poem is taken from PN Review 198, Volume 37 Number 4, February - March 2011.

Four Poems Eva Luka
Blue Gap

The last night with you, the wine almost
drunk up, its red breath
still damp. The Thai music
lies like an embryo in a dark womb
in this enchanted, craved for
room. Is it the scent that's shackled me to you,
Blue Gap, mingled with the odour
of musty books? I touch you
for the last time, it's like my mother in childhood
killing a rooster; he's still beautiful
and yet already gone. The wine is improper,
like blood, it doesn't belong. It shines, a pomegranate
full of pips, a derisive
ruby.

The indefinite pain, known as dailiness,
comes with the face of a licking dog, with the dog
howling. We sleep entangled in one another, but
...


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