Poetry from The Literary Review
Winter
Ioana Ieronim
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it all passed in dreams heat torpidity as if spinning in the den of a newly born bearcub that no one may see and know wrapped up in snows within the belly of the earth—except for the angel who with a square rule and compass gathers us all into a simplissima figura placing the pointer at the spot where the sky sticks to the earth Translated from the Romanian by Carrie Messenger |
