Thomas Kinsella quotes - 6 of
Ancestor . . . among sweet- and fruit-boxes.
Her black heart . . . ...
The goddess who had light for thighs
Grows feet of dung and takes to bed, ...
The window is wide
On a crawling arch of stars, and the night ...
Versing, like an exile, makes
A virtuoso of the heart, Interpreting the old mistakes And discords in a work of Art
In slow distaste
I fold my towel with what grace I can, Not young, and not renewable, but man.
I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare,
Riveted by a dark exhausted eye, A dry downturning mouth.
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