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… on walking through a caterpillar plague They come down the threads they make crawl in a straight line. There is the sound, soft rainlike fall of leaves chewed off. One’s crawling on my arm. Shaken to the ground my foot can squash, but no […]

La Fonte

La Fonte You borrowed San Juan de la Cruz and kept it. I saw it again when you returned from the West. It looked like it had fallen in the mud with some pages stuck together like a book kept mouldering in a cellar and […]