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137 Going back we looked at the few plastic clouds into the dark moony trees spring All I will amount to: knowing your sound, small bees, the winter wind is green. happiness in the trees O height dispersed and head in sometimes joining these sleeps.  O primitive touch between fingers and dawn on the back You are no more simple than a cedar tree whose children change the interesting earth and promise to shake her before the wind blows               away from you in the velocity of rest ...

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