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Richard Jackson

Across the piazza a violinist is playing for coins, playing as if to cover the cough of the moon, as if he were tending the wound of some distant star. This is a good time to toast your love. You may mention the uncut meadow, the haystacks waiting to take shape, how all the roads… Continue reading Richard Jackson

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American Culture · American Literature · Classic · Excerpt · Language Driven Poetry · Passage · Poetry

Richard Jackson

One time, your heart almost slipped away on a river barge. Your hands seemed to claw the sky. I’m sorry. No one else made anything out of those streaked clouds. The fact that it happened is proof enough for me. —  Richard Jackson, from “Certainty,” Out of Place: Poems (The Ashland Poetry Press, 2014)

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