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THE NIGHT POOL There is this other element that shines At night near human dwellings, glows like wool From the sides of itself, far down: From the deep end of heated water I am moving toward her, first swimming, Then touching my light feet to the floor, Rising like steam from the surface To take her in my arms, beneath the one window Still giving off unsleeping light. There is this other element, it being late Enough, and in it I lift her, and can carry Her over any threshold in the world, Into any of these houses, apartments, Her shoulders streaming, or above them Into the mythical palaces. Her body lies In my arms like a child's, not drowned, Not drowned, and I float with her off My feet. We are here; we move differently, Sustained, closer together, not weighing On ourselves or on each other, not near fish Or anything but light, the one human light From above that we lie in, breathing Its precious abandoned gold. We rise out Into our frozen land-bodies, and her lips Turn blue, sealed against me. What I can do In the unforgivable cold, in the least Sustaining of all brute worlds, is to say Nothing, not ask forgiveness, but only Give her all that in my condition I own, wrap her in many towels. 222 ...

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