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POMEGRANATES Under a thin coat of dust dull globes of pomegranates ripen. No easy fruit, these sweet-seeded leatherskinned puckering moons that clench & pull the brushwood closer to ground— Wild branches interweave into a thickening idiom of wood: muttered polysyllabic of twig, guttural patois of leaf in a green-belled dusk, and the vowels, slurred, hanging in drunken heat. Y«, they say (that sweetness in the mouth mixing with pith, a difficult promise made once to a dark King), yes, I will return everything. 52 ...

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