American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Collection · Contemporary · Excerpt · Fragment · Passage · Poetry

Larry Levis

At night I lie still, like Bolivia.
My furnaces still blue.
My forests go dark.
You are a low range of hills, a Paraguay.
Now the clouds cover us both.

— Larry Levis, from “The Map,” The Afterlife (Carnegie Mellon University Press, 1998)

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