The hope a mooncalf follows
is sacrifice for slaughter,
and yet the wings of swallows
still skip across the water. 

The Official Website of the Leading Formalist Poet 

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The Akkerman Steppe

  I launch myself across the dry and open narrows,

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Night

first appeared in The New Formalist

 
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Apollo’s Archaic Torso

We have no knowledge of his ancient brow where pippins

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An Autumn Evening

The brown village. A darkness often treads Along the walls

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© by Leo Yankevich
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