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[Mar. 26th, 2006|05:23 am]
rejectomorph
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A half-hearted evening drizzle diminishes and the clouds release the stars. All night, the clouds come and go, bruising one part of the sky or another. At last, thin fog arrives, and the smell of it is sharp and rich with dank earth and sodden pines. Frogs fall silent as the sky pales, and the first birds begin singing. Deja vu.
Classic Sunday Verse
Spring and All
by W.C. Williams
By the road to the contagious hospital under the surge of the blue mottled clouds driven from the northeast—a cold wind. Beyond, the waste of broad, muddy fields brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen
patches of standing water the scattering of tall trees
All along the road the reddish purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy stuff of bushes and small trees with dead, brown leaves under them leafless vines—
Lifeless in appearance, sluggish dazed spring approaches—
They enter the new world naked, cold, uncertain of all save that they enter. All about them the cold, familiar wind—
Now the grass, tomorrow the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf
One by one objects are defined— It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf
But now the stark dignity of entrance—Still, the profound change has come upon them: rooted they grip down and begin to awaken
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