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All Saints Convent, Catonsville, Maryland

The thrown arms of the cloister

draw evening’s thin sleeve of light

along the nave. Under those black

vaults, high fans scissor and one

candle cup hangs, white sustenance,

tangent to the moon.

Without, the brought dogs soar

on their tethers but the fleet

deer, still hungry, escape. New webs

gleam empty in the lilied fields,

though here with us was that reach met,

and the little hours kept all day to their intervals.

Owls cast from the hunched trees.

Together late, we rich few are full up.

from Inside Spiders

Copyright © Persea Books 2013
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Leslie Shinn Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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