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Finally opening the anthology to Kunitz I found him in the bathroom. Straight off he said it’s as easy to lose perspective as a shoe. I inferred this from the word shriven, just as his picture told me he’s a doorknob worn smooth by turnings, the hands of night that opened him to himself. Perhaps snow falling through a beakered sky or the diva groove of crickets is as pure as our bond, based solely on metaphor and sly enjambment. I’ll seek no news of him but verse.When the whale, moon-body beached, eye of water condemned by the corrosive sky, was touched by the poet, there was no hope it understood that even ravishment in certain minds becomes a promise. I think he’d like how we met and smile at the rustic music that accompanied his own, and turn to the window, to the constellation of roses, and be warmed to know that wanting only a moment’s occupation, I found so much faith in his lines that I stayed well beyond, having forgotten my purpose.  ...

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