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In the Woods My beard rough as the beginning of things, I'm new today. You won't find me, I'll be in the woods growing a skin to make friends with the squirrels, thefox and the puma; you won't catch me, I'll be hidden behind their furry selves and making my own sounds. Look for me in the trees or on the mountains, if you can get away. The Taste Let the bombs hang in air a moment while we adjust to their coming, making ourselves secure in our will to die as we are, unrepentant but forgiving, since we cannot go on breathing except as we are. Therefore to be remembered as we were by the bone pickers who know the taste of flesh. Reading at Night What have I learned that can keep me from the simple fact of my dying? None of the ideas I read stay with me for long. I find the dark closed in about me as I close the book and I hurry to open it 28 I Poems of the 1950s ...

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