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The Three I alone, solemn land clear, clean land, See your change, just as you give up part Of your reality: a scythe-sighing flight of low birds Now being gone: I, oversouling for an instant With them, I alone See you as more than you would have Be seen, yourself: grassland, Dark grassland, with three birds higher Than those that have left. They are up there With great power: so high they take this evening for good Into their force-lines. I alone move Where the other birds were, the low ones, Still swaying in the unreal direction Flocking with them. They are gone And will always be gone; even where they believe They were is disappearing. But these three Have the height to power-line all Land: land this clear. Any three birds hanging high enough From you trace the same paths As strong horses circling for a man alone, born level-eyed 18 As a pasture, but like the land Tilting, looking up. This may be it, too. 19 ...

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