Poem

Rags of snow unmelting on the southern lawn.
Those younger ones, whose death turns

on the hair’s-breadth incidence of accident,
avoid this perduration of slow misrecognition.

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The far city must make itself known
even here in the sitting room and
barred by winter branches. The skyline

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The far city must make itself known
even here in the sitting room and
barred by winter branches. The skyline ...

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His feet were stubborn
on the frozen path.
He put it into His hand, then ...

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Miracles are not like tempests.
Furlongs are not like hedgerows
though they come close ...

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As I combed it,
he sat cross-legged
in front of me ...

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We tread the wood in J. Crew,
pluck grey seersucker and navy cashmere
and talk about dressing for the seasons ...

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Just knowing those colours makes it safer
already and how they'll change anyway by the time
you, thirteen now, are old enough for elsewhere: ...

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The dead gaze back across their special days:
cloud above clover, crisis above the crow ...
Such new horizons, yet they still approach. ...

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