Friday, November 18, 2022

    from DRENCHED THROUGH AT OLD AGE

       
       counting the age in crows
        at seventy-six they slip away
           the black of them near end of day



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  at the very least there were about fourteen of them crickets

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               Let the shapes               escape the oars                bent the eel-                   grass an                      arm...
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              a leopardess every growl and coarse lick of it  
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                dark night yes          lamps of the          purse seiners