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tearing the rag off the bush again
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So rounded a season : the sky
in a few hours, fits
and the moon has a warmth
a harvest --your breasts
overnight --from your heart
everywhere a flickering light
flies open and the moon
heated, already noon

--streams widen from stone to stone
as if this floor still had a secret spot
and voices differ from one another
--you say the dry stones are innocent
the rest venomous, to listen for stones

for the thickening :each stream, you say
and turn toward my lips
--you lift my head as if some star
was falling, only once
and I had to know how it feels
to drown, to be a season
to wait for daylight, to wait
for evening and slowly turn.

And though this tar breaks open
it's not Spring --in the curb
a hubcap :soldier-songs

and cannons needed at the front
--you will lift this helmet, surprised
the eyes are still warm, the trees

single file, softer than snowshoes
and letters home --you will lift
the roadway, traffic will stop

and snow muffle the small dent
half smoke, half fever, half echo
--it's hard to believe these trees

live by hearing, a mist
breaking into floes, into wings
and behind the engines

ailerons shaking each windshield
--you try dragging the trees
to safety, to the warm cheek

you hear slip past
as stars do, weighing you down
your arms immense, bending over.

Some sooner than others, the cup
cold, damp and then
a singing, hugs, cakes --this table

prepared, its span would enfold
be guided :the tattoo
must be administered --a stranger

and ask for a refill, assure
a stain and its circle

and the chairs somehow now are carried
higher, boiling pots
allowed to touch our shoulders

and a nail where you would expect
the windowpane to drain
--we hang this cup for birdseed
filled --how many times

though the waxes we buy
are already melted, the table
warmer and unshaken.

Knots stay put and travelers
have their favorites, listen for squeaks
--I hang my coat and the table

can't move, tied by a great cloth
as if it couldn't hear this bread
shaped like a girl jumping rope
whose braids are all I remember :the knot

still trying --it takes a knife
to creak and keep coming
--I stare at the window left open

undo the laces
and my shoes suddenly warm
stopped calling for home.
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