Let me cradle myself back Into the darkness Of the half shapes... Of the cauled beginnings... Let me stir the attar of unused air, Elusive... ironically fragrant As a dead queen's kerchief... Let me blow the dust from off you... Resurrect your breath Lying limp as a fan In a dead queen's hand. Thanks is due to THE NEW REPUBLIC, POETRY, A MAGAZINE OF VERSE, PLAY-BOY, and OTHERS for permission to reprint some of these poems.…
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