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

Charles Wright

The afternoon Dissolves in my mouth, The landscape dwindles and whispers like rice through my dry fingers. Now twilight. Now the bereft bodies Of those who have never risen from the dead glide down Through the dwarf orchard And waver like candle flames                                                    under the peach trees and go out. — Charles Wright, from… Continue reading Charles Wright

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

Charles Wright

The world is a magic book, and we its sentences. We read it and read ourselves.                                                   We close it and turn the page down And never come back, Returned to what we once were before we became what we are. This is the tale the world tells, this is the way it ends. —… Continue reading Charles Wright

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

Charles Wright

There is an otherness inside us We never touch,                                 no matter how far down our hands reach. It is the past,                            with its good looks and Anytime, Anywhere … Our prayers go out to it, our arms go out to it Year after year, But who can ever remember enough? — Charles Wright,… Continue reading Charles Wright

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

Charles Wright

I find, after all these years, I am a believer— I believe what the thunder and lightning have to say; I believe that dreams are real,                                                      and that death has two reprisals; I believe that dead leaves and black water fill my heart. I shall die like a cloud, beautiful, white, full of nothingness.… Continue reading Charles Wright

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

Charles Wright

I keep on thinking.                                      If I sit here for long enough, A line, one true line, Will rise like some miraculous fish to the surface, Brilliant and lithe in the late sunlight, And offer itself into my hands. I keep thinking that as the weeks go by,                                                                          and the waters never change. —… Continue reading Charles Wright

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