In these short poems with lines such as 'the bitter orchard trees/ the flinty stars/ a harsh moon-match/ struck in the white-washed yard-' or 'only the stripped thing/ only the primrose smoke/ the sunset chimneys thread-' what's spared are the images of the early consciousness a landscape stripped to its signs; a glimmer of light can be a way of life or first impressions a set of beliefs.
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