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Virgin, sappy, gorgeous, the right-now
Flutters its huge prosthetics at us, flung
To the spotlights, frozen in motion, center-ice. . . .
On the rough diamond,
the hand-cut field below the dog lot and barn,
we rehearsed the strict technique . . .
There is a silence where hath been no sound,
There is a silence where no sound may be,
In the cold grave—under the deep deep sea, . . .
Since there is no escape, since at the end
My body will be utterly destroyed,
This hand I love as I have loved a friend, . . .
If the angle of an eye is all,
the slant of hope, the slant of dreaming, according to each life,
what is the light of this city, . . .
Sleeping sister of a farther sky,
dropped from zenith like a tender tone,
the lucid apex of a scale unknown . . .
They staunched the wound with a stone.
They drew blue venom from his blood
until there was none. . . .
The snow is deep on the ground.
Always the light falls
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd. . . .
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow; . . .