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Valerie Duff
Birds crack seeds on the other side of your glass door. The body, blind, curves its hedge down paths.

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Luke Patterson
eat biscuits wait for the wind to calm sheepish hawks circle thermal pockets birdsong warms the valley lips

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James Longenbach
A book is the future. You dream Of reading it, and once you’ve finished, it’s a miracle, you know the past.

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Yu Xiuhua (translated from the Chinese by Wang Fang & Yvonne Reddick)
I read your poems in a clean yard. All the world’s love-affairs are a blur, like sparrows darting by, and the years are pure as moonlight. No, I’m not being sentimental — if I send you a book, it won’t be poetry.

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Anna Swir (translated from the Polish by Czesław Miłosz & Leonard Nathan)
The soul asks the body: Is it true that we do not really exist? The body says: I’m tanning my knees.

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Maya C. Popa
Longing, I said, pushing distance through a cage— it's why the picture city must be snowed in.

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In “Envoy,” mythology becomes a stand-in for the abiding narratives of this world, which are placed in opposition to the mutable, ever-changing narratives of the state (what today we might call alternative facts).

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Zbigniew Herbert (translated from the Polish by Alissa Valles)
Keep watch—when a light on a hill gives a sign—rise and go as long as the blood is still turning the dark star in your breast

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Daryl Lim Wei Jie
I have waited fifty years                            for running water                                                                                 and aerosol cheese

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Mark Bibbins
When someone in a movie dies with their eyes open the lids are made to look so easy to close

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