Giovanni Pascoli (translated from the Italian by Geoffrey Brock)
Three grapes, Giacinto, grow upon these vines: The first is pleasure, and is clear as air; the next is sweet amnesia. Drink their wines,                                       yes—but stop there . . .
from the book Last Dream / World Poetry Books
Nava EtShalom
I woke up from marrying my father; the window let in a little streeplamp shine. None of us knew what time it was. The streetlamp thought three. The boy thought morning, and started to wake.
Marjorie Welish
                                    Itself Sedentary in another language is language as such           Whether or not we can read it, sought          Because home. . .
Brigit Pegeen Kelly
Strange about the kills we get without intending them. Because we are pointed in the direction of something. Because we are distracted at just the right moment, or the wrong.
Shuri Kido (translated from the Japanese by Tomoyuki Endo & Forrest Gander)
A long slope. The sun dipped, and finally sank. No matter how long I walked, I stayed in "the middle of the road." The name torn into pieces. Just keeping on, climbing higher and higher I'd completely forgotten the name.

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