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Friday, January 3, 2003

Beginning

Rating: 2.9
The moon drops one or two feathers into the fiels.
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.
There they are, the moon's young, trying
Their wings.
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone
Wholly, into the air.
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.
James Arlington Wright
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COMMENTS
Dan Hise 17 November 2013
A poem about the otherness of the world, a strangeness that may be transcended temporarily by one who has the proper amount of humility and acceptance. Compare Danse Russe by W. C. Williams.
3 0 Reply
Jerry Buckley 09 February 2010
James Wright is an icon for the generation. Worthy of full consideration by anyboyd who claims to love poetry.
7 0 Reply

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