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Charles Wright 15 SELF PORTRAIT / Charles Wright Charles on the Trevisan, night bridge To the crystal, infinite alphabet of his past. Charles on the San Trovaso, earmarked, Holding the pages of a thrown-away book, dinghy the color of honey Under the pine boughs, the water east-flowing. The wind will edit him soon enough, And squander his broken chords in tiny striations above the air, No slatch in the undertow. The sunlight will bear him out, Giving him breathing room, and a place to lie. And why not? The reindeer still file through the bronchial trees, Holding their heads high. The mosses still turn, the broomstraws flash on and off. Inside, in the crosslight, and St Jerome And his creatures ... St Augustine, striking the words out . . . ...


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