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15 eLegy for the Poet CharLes MoULton When we were last together, you read me your latest poem from a sheaf of hand-scrawled pages, dog-eared and rolled together by a rubber band. You didn’t ask me to look at it. We both knew why: I thought a catfish had a better grasp of English spelling; you thought my soul had narrowed from too many years in a classroom. Yours was a freedom one might envy, listening to your drawl of gravelly music, that wild guffaw when a line pleased you. I have a photo of you, taken on some mountain—big grin, arms held out wide, you’re dancing a jig buck-naked in your broken boots and there’s so much joy in your grizzled face I have to turn away. You look like you’re getting ready to fly. ...

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