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J U N E 1 9 8 0 NEWby William Matthews | |||||||||||||
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Hear William Matthews read this poem (in RealAudio): (For help, see a note about the audio.)
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The long path sap sludges up through an iris, is it new each spring? And what would an iris care for novelty? Urgent in tatters, it wants to wrest what routine it can from the ceaseless shifts of weather, from the scrounge it feeds on to grow beautiful and bigger: last week the space about to be rumpled by iris petals was only air through which a rabbit leapt, a volley of heartbeats hardly contained by fur, and then the clay- colored spaniel in pursuit and the effortless air rejoining itself whole. Copyright © 1980 by William Matthews. All rights reserved. The Atlantic Monthly; June 1980; New; Volume 245, No. 6; page 67. |
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