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Somewhere Outside of Eden For Robert Philen I saw these things the moment contained (what the light proposed), a camellia bush in thick red bloom all January, some flowers browning on the dormant lawn (still green): they smelled like something afternoon; wax baskets of evergreen mistletoe hung from bare limbs of a southern red oak, verdant parasite on the sleeping life, a full complement of complementary colors. The three o’clock half-moon dangled above still lifes of tree grass house like a quarter shoved into a slot, we passed an empty lot where two azalea bushes and a spreading live oak marked the place a homestead had been; a steep voice tumbled down a slope of lawn (we’d walked right into March), only a mockingbird perched in the heights of a naked tree on the periphery of day. When you said, let’s go home, I answered, where is that. 98 Shepherd PG:Layout 1 12/20/06 5:27 PM Page 98 ...

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