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PETER RILEY

from Thirty Poems of Ten Lines

11)

Here out of my writing
your fingertips glow in the darkness
you climb into the valley

and I know my life can never be translated
out of this miserable little hole
full of novels and possibilities –
the very sides of it cut my hands.

On the hard rocks of the heart vale
our sight ends.  The magpie moth
lays her eggs in the wound.

Peter Riley