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Larry Levis

Sometimes I almost believe her soul looks outof the photograph, almost clears the sillOf the eyes & comes near; though it does not everMove, it holds me while I look at it.But even today, I can’t conceive of a soulWithout seeing a woman’s body. Specifically,Yours, undoing the straps of an evening dressIn a convertible, &… Continue reading Larry Levis

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C.T. Salazar

I could believe the soul is a crater—the impact ofyour hands on my chest. Fingertips & lips, forest& fire. You taste like cinnamon, or cyanide. — C.T. Salazar, from “You Called Me Castaway and I Called You,” micro collection This Might Have Meant Fire: Poems, INCH quarterly (no. 39, Summer 2019)

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Raymond Carver

Every day, every night of our lives, we’re leaving little bits of ourselves, flakes of this and that, behind. Where do they go, these bits and pieces of ourselves?  – Raymond Carver, from “Collectors,” Will You Please be Quiet, Please? Stories (Vintage, 1992)

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Jan Richman

I still dream of the taste of you,musty-sweet as a rare book,field smoke brushing a night train.Kisses mouth of pink oasis, fruitfuland whiptorn, carved from rose stone.Quick and sure, like a thumbprint, your love for me. — Jan Richman, from “I Still Dream of the Taste of You,” Because the Brain Can Be Talked Into… Continue reading Jan Richman

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Yōko Ogawa

I sometimes wonder what I’d see if I could hold your heart in my hands, […] I imagine it fitting perfectly in my palms, soft and slippery, like gelatin that hasn’t quite set. It might wobble at the slightest touch, but I sense I’d need to hold it carefully, so it wouldn’t slip through my… Continue reading Yōko Ogawa

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Robert Creeley

Old Song I’m feeling ok still in some small way.I’ve come too far to just go away.I wish 1 could stay here some way. So that what now comes wouldn’t only be moreof what’s to be lost. What’s left would still leave moreto come if one didn’t rush to get there. What’s still to say?… Continue reading Robert Creeley

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