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thanksgiving poetry

she said
when i was broke in london
as a naked man i go
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
i am in love with high far-seeing places
the ancient songs
i loved a woman
so lost
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
you are my companion
why do
a flying word from here and there
star-dust and vaporous light
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree

 



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