-
as we vanish,
-
like horses over suddenly held-out hurdles
-
I’m herdsman of a flock.
-
Every good horseman / learns to read
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Were all stars to disappear or die,
-
the conversations I remember most
-
… each second is in me. The arrow
-
& so I / was wrong. Nothing dies. It comes back as the old farmer,
-
Love is a word another kind of open—
-
what isn’t burning?
