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Mary Rose O’Reilley

When he uncovers fiddleheads by the spring, why does he always think of that first sight of her thigh in the peach-colored dress, of his hand’s searching moss with its red-gold stamens, the spring in that arid landscape like something from Canaan under his tongue? — Mary Rose O’Reilley, from “The Abandoned Farm,” Poetry (2007)

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Wallace Stevens

Now in midsummer come and all fools slaughtered And spring’s infuriations over and a long way To the first autumnal inhalations, young broods Are in the grass, the roses are heavy with a weight Of fragrance and the mind lays by its trouble. — Wallace Stevens, from “Credences of Summer,” The Collected Poems of Wallace… Continue reading Wallace Stevens

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