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Nomi Stone



The stones are tunnels

of light. The city touches

your funny bone with

a mallet of light, the feeling

of emerging from

a tunnel into a bright room.


They call this city

the navel of

the world. Once the cord

was snipped,

it bucked out of God's arms.





The above poem is an excerpt from Stranger's Notebook (Northwestern University Press, 2008).

A perfectly healthy sentence, it is true, is extremely rare. For the most part we miss the hue and fragrance of the thought; as if we could be satisfied with the dews of the morning or evening without their colors, or the heavens without their azure. - Henry David Thoreau


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