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Show 13, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 2] In dusk the cardinals gather Precocious hens creeping near Black-masked males circling my humble charities The chirping, the food song the litany begins Crests down, they wear scarlet caps, cowls I see their redness as for the first time Lord, you have sent cardinals Evensong is my blessing from these wild bishops. How about your writing? Your letters hint that something very good can come of this. The way you're putting things lately, your serialized dime-novel adventures, a Baron Munchausen travelogue, a Byronic episode to those sunlit isles. And I thank you, old roommate, for giving me this latitude. . . What you wrote me about Key West--something like the set for Porgy's Crawfish Lane?-- You made me see it and hear it; you're using pointillism, making me feel I have something of the musical ear of a Bizet--for some reason I'm thinking of those twin flutes from Carmen-- who, of course, had never been to Spain. . . You're probably ready to write for money now; you seem to be able to put down those 1,000 words that are up to the remarkable task of equaling a picture. . . |