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Or, glancing off buoyantly,
Radiate notes in one key
With the sparkle of rain-drops
On the petal of a cactus flower
Focusing the just-out sun.

Cactus . . . why cactus?
God . . . God!
Somewhere . . . away off . . .
Cactus flowers, star-yellow,
Ray out of spiked green;
And empties of sky
Roll you over and over
Like a mother her baby in long grass.
And only the wind scandal-mongers with gum trees,
Pricking multiple leaves at his wondrous story.

Poetry, A Magazine of VerseLola Ridge


ALTITUDE
I wonder
How it would be here with you,
Where the wind
That has shaken off its dust in low valleys
Touches one cleanly
As with a new-washed hand,
And pain
Is as the remote hunger of droning things,
And anger
But a little silence
Sinking into the great silence.

Poetry, A Magazine of VerseLola Ridge

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