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A la Madonnina del Ponte
Dino Campana, The Glass Window the breath of this European town: effluvia, spices. The bite of tin, musty wool. Where mullioned panes of near-still river water reflect the bridge's modest arch: upper and lower lips. Bows sipping slowly at this draught of night, they do not smile as the first slow star pricks through the velvet of sky.
Yet even here, where night seems Roberta Feins |