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And ifI set your long name in the wind And it comes back spelling out The name ofa far port-of-call, the place we never got to, That is all right. And yet, with the ashy river Running like a soul where I'm headed, Even with the names ofharbors that swarmed all over me When I hit the open, when I paced myselfexactly With the current-these and the birds, the old cows, Have stubborned here stalled no matter how I increase My leg-beat, or stretch and find myself Calling out in mid-stride. You are motionless, you are in the middle Ofelsewhere, breathing the herd-breath Ofthe dead-singled and in-line breathing Among so many-looking in the same direction As the rest ofthem, your long legs covered with burrs And bent weeds, splinters ofgrassblades: Squared off, power-bodied, pollen-lidded You are: green-legged, but nailed there. Put;gation (second version) homage) Po Chu-yi Before and after the eye, grasses go over the long fields. Every season they walk on by us, as though-no; I and you, Dear friend-decreed it. One time or another They are here. Grass season... yet we are no longer the best Ofus. Lie stiller, closer; in the April I love For its juices, there is too much green for your grave. I feel that the Spring should ignite with what is Unnatural as we; ours, but God-suspected. It should come in one furious stl and leave Double-tongue: Collaborations and Rewrites / 472 Some-a little-green for us; never quite get every one ofthe hummocks tremoring vaguely Tall in the passed-through air. They'd make the old road be The road for old men, where you and I used to wander toward The beetle-eaten city gate, as the year leaned into us. Oh fire, come on! I trust you! My ancient human friend, you are dead, as we both know. But I remember, and I call for something serious, uncalled-for By anyone else, to sweep, to use the dryness we've caused to become us! Like the grasshopper I speak, nearly covered with dust, from the footprint and ask Not for the line-squall lightning: the cloud's faking veins-Yes! I catch myself: No; not the ripped cloud's open touch the fireball hay OfAugust but for flame too old to live Or die, to travel like a wide wild contrary Single-minded brow over the year's right growing In April over us for us as we sway stubbornly near death From both sides age-gazing Both sighing like grass and fire. Basics 1. LE VEL Who has told you what discoveries There are, along the stressed blank Ofa median line? From it, nothing Can finally fall. Like a spellbinder's pass A tense placid principle continues Over it, and when you follow you have the drift, The balance ofmany compass needles Verging to the pole. Bring down your arms) voyager, Basics / 473 ...

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