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pines (west, out of view) and
a nuanced (believe me) color this weighted gamut so brutalizes
we’re reduced to something about the Romans and
(less yet) a middle term --
camps maybe, exercises, alarums and
cool shade, the cool light these
longer shadows cross.
just echoes.
pines and gloaming cold, o weathered snow,
the death of a poet, do marshal here
your several trajects.
6 jan 98 |