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32 Linesfrom an Autumn Litany In the smoky gauze of dusk sheep at pasture bend to graze. Mounds of tattered fleece thick necks rounded toward the ground scattered amid bales of discolored hay amid curved humps of field stone. Three species of gray yellow heaps arch upon the flat back of earth, merge in their reality, flock one into another until sight can no longer distinguish sheephayorstone. Dried fists of fall leaves scatter across township roads while drivers brake for the blurred brown motion of squirrels across their path. Bunches of leaves rise up lift off like carrion-seeking crows. So many patterns form and disintegrate with autumn's breath: oak mice, aspen opposum, maple leaf pheasant. Colored and shaped by air gusts each moment on the verge of transformation. We are something else. We are more truly ourselves. And with the brush of night we are all of one darkness. 33 ...

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