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Andrew Wyeth, Painter, Dies at 91

A weathered barn on a hilltop; a nude woman
sprawled on the slope
below.

A giant squid rises out of a hayfield, & the barn
is compassed in tentacles
then a cloud of ink.

A man with a fountain pen in his hand
& a pitchfork
in his back

walks the cow-path around the barn
& tells the beauty
on the hill

to step to it. It’s as if her freckled skin
is newly charcoaled
& the hayloft

a smokescreen. The cows can’t be heard for certain
within the ink blot,
but deer

creep to the edge of the field on
delicate feet.

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