Sylvia: A Refresher Course on the Concrete



Start with the mat-green fungus in the pine woods yesterday; words about it, describing it, and a poem will come. Daily, simply, and then it won't lour in the distance, an untouchable object. Write about the cow, Mrs. Spaulding's heavy eyelids, the smell of vanilla flavoring in a brown bottle. That's where the magic mountains begin.

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