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Poem by Hilda Doolittle


Heat


O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat--
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.



Hilda Doolittle


Hilda Doolittle's other poems:
  1. After Troy
  2. Lais
  3. Nossis
  4. Centaur Song
  5. Heliodora


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