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The same eye hesitates in a narrow street,

Every edge line fades

Inside, out of a world filled albumen.

The thicket mounts the back

Of bisquest, sandstone levies against

The common night. A head

Shaped letter moves into view

And, turning, reveals

That which it's hoping to be. That,

A canine, now of concrete,

Nostril torn by one

As a more consistent blur.

The lap of space twists gray

Into common knots, what is known

To group and disintegrate

Are many undeniable things,

Armlines of one hanged from branches--

Draped with scripted leaves--

Swings in the middle of a scene.

And not a single one remains undilated.

The flies are still, our eyes,

Shocked because the universe requests that,

A rooftop, once set upon

By great walls at the sea

Tears off into the wind to become all

a wake trailed into forgetting,

a let-go-the-bar, a one cracked-open

and another, a shell.

Antonio Facchino lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. He conducts poetry workshops with California Poets in the Schools and works as a Director of Photography for Think Tank Video. Other poems of his have appeared in Santa Clara Review.
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Author:Facchino, Antonio
Publication:Chicago Review
Article Type:Poem
Date:Dec 22, 2001
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