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THE MILKMAN The milkman walks with mysterious movements, Translating will to energyTo the crunch of his feet on crystalline waterWhile the bad angels mutter. A white ghost in an opaque body Passing slowly over the snow, And a telltale fume on the frozen air To spite the princes of terror. One night they will knock on the milkman's door, Their boots crunch hard on the front-porch floor. One-two, open the door. You are the thief of the secret flame, The forbidden bread, the terrible Narne. Return what is left; go back where you came. One-two, the slam of a door. A woman crying: Who is there? And voices mumbling beyond the stair. Is there a fume in the frozen sky To spell that someone has been by, Under the sun and over the snow? [4 0 ] ...

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