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ARRIVING IN THE COUNTRY AGAIN The white house is silent. My friends can't hear me yet. The flicker who lives in the bare tree at the field's edge Pecks once and is still for a long time. I stand still in the late afternoon. My face is turned away from the sun. A horse grazes in my long shadow. IN THE COLD HOUSE I slept a few minutes ago, Even though the stove has been out for hours. I am growing old. A bird cries in bare elder trees. SNOWSTORM IN THE MIDWEST Though haunches of whales Slope into whitecap doves, It is hard to drown here. Between two walls, A fold of echoes, A girl's voice walks naked. I step into the water Of two flakes. The crowns of white birds rise To my ankles, To my knees, To my face. Escaping in silence From locomotive and smoke, I hunt the huge feathers of gulls 130 And the fountains of hills, I hunt the sea, to walk on the waters. A splayed starling Follows me down a long stairway Of white sand. HAVING LOST MY SONS, I CONFRONT THE WRECKAGE OF THE MOON: CHRISTMAS, 1960 After dark Near the South Dakota border, The moon is out hunting, everywhere, Delivering fire, And walking down hallways Of a diamond. Behind a tree, It lights on the ruins Of a white city: Frost, frost. Where are they gone, Who lived there? Bundled away under wings And dark faces. I am sick Of it, and I go on, Living, alone, alone, Past the charred silos, past the hidden graves Of Chippewas and Norwegians. This cold winter Moon spills the inhuman fire Of jewels Into my hands. THE BRANCH WILL NOT BREAK 13! ...

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