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Ultimate nightingale.

My ultimate nightingale--vivid, doubtful, whistling in a whisper. The past zings by me like an automobilist making up lost time.

A quart of water--not such a grand thing, not so clear as it once was, still clear enough to let the light pass.

Electricity--even in a cafe alone I can feel it, the blood of the city coursing after the power goes out.

This is the tango--I put one foot here and lead you where you'd planned to go. The tango is beautiful and vile.

The earth has sealed itself from us--mouth sealed, eyes sealed, anus, fingertips, ears, heart, all sealed, from us.

A blue vase--pale as some skies, or the egg of a bird, or a lover's touch from across a wide bed and then together.

There are mysteries in the world-thoughts and moments, salmon, rivers, rain, the leisure that surrounds us day after day.
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Author:Romtvedt, David
Publication:The American Poetry Review
Date:Mar 1, 1993
Words:146
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