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Spring 2004 • Vol. XXVI No. 2 • Poetry |

The Snowstorm

From the Chinese. 

During the night a snowstorm spread
Many downy flakes like smallpox sores.
It knitted a priest’s robe,
Then lightly covered the body of the wasted earth,
Laid a shroud on those who died.

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These are the gloves—of doeskin—he had specially made, after, and never wore.                                   He’d shot the animal himself—unfairly, it seemed at the time; still seems so: crouched in a locust tree, […]

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