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15 G h o s t [ e A r t h ] I left a letter in the rain, caught a cold and fed it with my mouth. I called a step you never knew and set down a field with another tune. Drew on a coat so you might know I didn’t do it for you. only gravity knows the soil I loosed—sent down the wash and laid in some other bed for you. After, I laid my head on a pile of stray blankets and heard from their geology. Carried their faults beneath my skin, learned to let the others in. here is a shattered geology: I made up last night’s bells and white linen. I turned blind eyes to the turning season, the clearing below a pool of small secrets. In the clearing I gave up my coat for the leaves and their falling—hoped to be found in winter like a person left in the woods. Can my raincoat turn a tide? Might mushrooms grow on me? I laid my head on some found one’s side and hoped his covers might follow me home. And you would see me dressed in the clearing, one who made rows wilder and shaved moss from his chin. see me with no coat you know and no rose tapped into a button’s hole—see me giving to the tree and shaking my horns as it swallows me. ...

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