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Lost and Found in the Wild

by Jane Engleman

The deer hide on the dirt is itchy and stiff,
the veiled moon through the roof beams
weak, white. We swig the anemic tea you… 198 more words



I will always say, “I am.” It has not always been this way. And it is not to say that it is not true that “We are.” Poets never become the center of a light until they become the infinity of the periphery, along with everybody else. 309 more words