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What else to do. This silver small-stone heat No man can cross; no man could get To his feet, even to rise face-out Full-force from the grave, where the sun is down on him Alone, harder than resurrection Is up: down harder harder Much harder than that. Circuit Beaches; it is true: they go on on And on, but as they ram and pack, foreseeing Around a curve, always slow-going headlong For the circle swerving from water But not really, their minds on a perfect connection, no matter How long it takes. You can't be On them without making the choice To meet yourselfno matter How long. Don't be afraid; It will come will hit you Straight out ofthe wind, on wings or not, Where you have blanked yourself Still with your feet. It may be raining In twilight, a sensitive stripping Of arrow-feathers, a lost trajectory struck Stock-stilling through them, or where you cannot tell Ifthe earth is green or red, Basically, or ifthe rock with your feet on it Circuit / 433 Has floated over the water. As for where you are standing Now, there are none ofthose things; there are only In one shallow spray-pool this one Strong horses circling. Stretch and tell me, Lord; Let the place talk. This may just be it. NightBird Some beating in there That has bunched, and backed Up in it out ofmoonlight, and now Is somewhere around. You are sure that like a curving grave It must be able to fall and rise and fall and that's Right, and rise on your left hand or other Or behind your back on one hand You don't have and suddenly there is no limit To what a man can get out of His failure to see: this gleam Ofair down the nape ofthe neck, and in it everything There is offlight and nothing else, and it is All right and all over you From around as you are carried In yourselfand there is no way To nothing-but-walkThe EagleJs Mile / 434 ...

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