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by George Hitchcock

I am in the forest looking for
fragments of speech, the betrayed
holy words which cannot utter themselves.
I have been lost for days.
There are many moons; the time
is at the crossroads of autumn.
In my mouth are burnt poppyseeds,
at my elbow December’s shadow.

I ask for directions; you answer:
“Somewhere, in some house far from here,
a man is weaving the rope in which
this day shall be hanged.”


George Hitchcock always has been and always will be the editor of kayak. (1974)

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