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Carl Rakosi
from Excercises in Scriptural Writing
Sandalwood comes to my mind
when I think of you
and the triumph of your shoulders.
Greek chorus girls came to me
in the course of the day
and from a distance
Celtic vestals too,
but you bring me the Holy Land
and the sound of deep themes
in the inner chamber.
I give you praise
in the language
of wells and vineyards.
Your hand recalls
the salty heat of barbarism.
Your mouth is a pouch
for the accents of queens.
Your eyes flow over
with a gentle psalm
like the fawn eyes
of the woodland.
Your black hair
plucks my strings.
In the foggy wilderness
is not your heart
a hermit thrush?
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