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Vienna, Midsummer: What She Wanted To Bring Back
A date on a manuscript.
All the rubrics. All the glosses.
Not to feel she had done wrong
touching the warm surface of the folio
with a sweaty hand.
Erasmus. An embrace. What follows.
The distance between color as such
and the rose's inflorescence
and the pigeon's head. Its iridescence.
Its eye. The middle aged man
with his green shirt, standing
barefoot in the fountain.
The teenaged girls burbling
by the pool with its lip of water. The water.
The smell of box. (Pipi de chat.)
A seat in the shade. A writing space.
Vertigo. Hunger. The statue of a queen,
pensive and specular
veiled in stone draperies. The text beneath,
its heaviness and strangeness. Enfolding
silence, through which words come
suddenly visible. The lettered movement
like lightning on the horizon. The page lit
with branched flame.
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