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IN THE STREET OF THE FRUIT STALLS
Jan Stallworthy
Wicks balance
flame, a dark dew falls
In the street
of the fruit stalls,
Melon, guava,
mandarin,
Pyramid-piled
like cannon balls,
Glow red-hot,
gold-hot, from within.
Dark children
with a coin to spend,
Enter the
lantern’s orbit; find Melon, guava, mandarin,
The moon
compacted to a rind,
The sun in a
pitted skin,
They take it,
break it open, let.
A gold or
silver fountain wet,
Mouth, fingers,
cheek, nose chin,
Radiant as
lanterns, they forget,
The dark street
I am standing in.
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