Anna Jackson
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    • Pasture and Flock
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    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
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    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
  • Home
  • Poems
  • Books
    • Pasture and Flock
    • I, Clodia, and other portraits
    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
    • Catullus for children
    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
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YOUR CART

​You ask, Lesbia, how many kisses it will take for me  
to be done with this kissing business.  As many as there are grains 
of Libyan sand in the silphium-fields of Cyrene between  
the burning heat of Jove’s temple and 
the sacred tomb of ancient Battus,  
or,  
as many as there are stars, on a quiet night,  
looking down on furtive lovers – that  
is how many kisses it would be enough to kiss you with  
for this impossibly love-stricken Catullus, enough 
to be beyond the count of anyone watching, too impossibly 
many to be taken up in any idle conversation… 
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