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C H A R L E S W R I G H T 6 Lines for Chi K’ang My thoughts, which should wander like match lights in the Great Void, turn back to the mountains and lie in the shadowed snarl of the blackberry vines. Whatever it was I wanted is still there, footmarks on the wet leaves. November Across the river, the sun, rim-barbed, Blood spot on the sky’s bandage, burns in its ecstasy; Corn stalks give in to the year’s windfall. Life, once coiled like a rope on the back porch, Shakes loose, short as a shoestring, The sound of ground leaves, Old Nothing loading his pipe. 50 ❚ The 1970s Venetian Spring The peach blooms, words are a house of rain. Fire dogs, ashes, the soap of another life, Whatever is due me still I give it back. And this hive Of emptiness, this wax in its little box. The 1970s ❚ 51 ...

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