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John Engels


Damselfly, Trout, Heron

for Jim Seay The damselfly folds its wings over its body when at rest. Captured, it should not be killed in cyanide, but allowed to die slowly: then the colors, especially the reds and blues, will last. In the hand it crushes easily into a rosy slime [...]

Toutes Les Lumieres

The trees touch overhead. Stars are hot in the locked angles of branches. City lights are in the far distance. Overhead, a lamp snows light onto the street, There is a moon. You stand in the white circle of its light. You wear a white lace gown and y [...]

Dreaming of the Natural History Museum

AT NOTRE DAME Today I wake up and recall of the entire dream only the ceremonial ochres of the skull of the Miami brave, the pickled bull snake in its jar, its pallid coils, the gold pendulum, big as my head that swung forever around the red X of [...]