Fauna by Stephen Page

Along the trail at Pennpack

Photograph by g emil reutter

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Fauna
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Fauna is absent from the wood of late,
I cannot see her from my treestump—
She has lit to trees and burrowed underground
Escaping the face of four-legged Helios.
 .
Cynthia came to me in my tower—
She wore a diadem and sheer short robe
And while I lay naked on my carpet
She straddled me with her sandaled calves.
 .
Rosemary outside my matera window
Scents the sough of Delphi’s cloud
Buzzed northerly by the bumblebee
Brandishing his long red clover tongue.
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Diana was once a lover of mine
That flew with me to California
And shotgunned in my rusty Volkswagen
But did not vacate my New York studio.
 .
After four long years of living with Helen
And never touching barefoot Delos
Artemis leaned over fresh cut grass
With sunburnt face and parchment lips.
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Stephen Page phot with muse (1)
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Stephen Page is the Author of The Timbre of Sand, Still Dandelions, and A Ranch Bordering the Salty River. He holds two AA’s from Palomar College, a BA from Columbia University, and an MFA from Bennington College. He also attended Broward College. He is the recipient of The Jess Cloud Memorial Prize, a Writer-in-Residence from the Montana Artists Refuge, a Full Fellowship from the Vermont Studio Center, an Imagination Grant from Cleveland State University, and an Arvon Foundation Ltd. Grant. He loves his wife, reading, travel, family, and friends. Stephen Page   
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