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50 the minnesota review Bruce Bond Weight It could be morning and the newly dead detonate like birds, nothing on my back but a cold press of sunlight, the night's heft there behind me, tethered to my waist. Stubborn that way, the night, loaded down with stony cloud on cloud and bad sleep. A wonder clouds don't tumble to the earth. Today I have a mind of mud and bear it doggedly into class, lifting up a poem from its page to see what life beats there, to listen to the music beneath the ghost of meaning, the near voice of a strong black gate swinging open into question, as if only something so acquainted with its leaving could speak to me in day's confusion, take what's missing on its back, release the body from its ties and say, it's OK, let the night rest there in its shoes ofwater, soon there will be other nights, let themfind you, let them call you out for thefirst time as the stranger that you are. ...

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Additional Information

ISSN
2157-4189
Print ISSN
0026-5667
Pages
p. 50
Launched on MUSE
2011-07-06
Open Access
No
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