THE gold, the wild-beast fires begin again upon the fruit-boughs Running from branch to branch, and our gold veins Catch fire. In the caverns where our blood begins Sound the ancestral voices That are ...
Readers of London’s highbrow Horizon are triple-annealed against literary stresses. Even so, some must look twice or thrice at a clutch of verses by José Garcia Villa in the current issue. Sample: ...
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