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But there they are, on the pitch-black ocean floor, Hands out, hair floating: everywhere! Holding us in their charred arms like water. Sleep Drops Its Nets Sleep drops its nets for monsters old as the Flood; You are not you, no more than I am I; If our dead fathers walk the wall at night Our hands when we wake up are white on white Betraying neither wounds nor blood; The voice is mist that made us cry. And then day sweeps the castle dry. Déjà-vu No, my father here, as You said, When I asked him for bread Didn’t refuse me; but the bread was green; And now You! Now I’m dry and cold, Chattering in the corner of the greenhouse, Now You let me know it was always You, That déjà-vu Tilt of the sunlight on the floor, That silence at the door! I’d laugh, but I never, never loved You, And here I am dead, My Midas teeth on edge, green Jade on jade. dream barker 45 ...

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