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Updated: Jan 23, 2022


Here was the door where the day walked in,

The floor feet made thin.

Why was the window cold with the full scene it shone?

When, at long last, did the thumb

Unmark the glass?

And when did the eye find a changeful slant of song,

Singing through the slant

Of new weather, tugging at the bedclothes,

Fixed in the blue fixture

Onstreaming over

The chimney; this scoop of land

Stooping out of its claim?





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