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the red wheelbarrow - William carlos williams

Where does an image start to find its feet? when does it soar and turn into fire? When does it find rest in the heart of a mind, and re-emerge phoenix like as one's own? the run on line in this poem is a beating stone of breath. it swims through the meandering language of a dust filled evening in a village.


Carlos's poem sets in slowly. like the the imprint of children's footsteps on wet cement. discovered years later as miniature fossils. skeletons of the city's forgotten soul.





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