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In place, overcoming, coming over us And from us from now on out. vessels When the sound offorest leaves is like the sleep-talk Ofhalf-brothers; when it trembles shorts itselfout Between branches, and is like light that does not cost Itselfany light, let me turn: turn right then, Right as it happens and say: I crave wandering And giving: I crave My own blood, that makes the body Ofthe lover in my arms give up On the great sparking vault ofher form, when I think instead Ofmy real brother, who talks like no leaf Or no half, and of the road he will be on As my body drops off And the step he takes from me Comes kicking, and he feels the starry head that has hovered Above him all his life come down on his, like mine Exactly, or near enough. Sleepers There is a sound you can make, as ifsomeone asked you To sing between oar strokes, or as though Your birth-cry came back, and you put it into sails Over water, or without vocal cords, like a torso, The EagleJs Mile / 456 Said what it meant, regardless. That is the voice For sleepers; find itUse it and you can join them, that assault-force Without a muscle, fighting for space To lift in planned rows over graveyards Like full battalions. Not one can give you the location Ofhis stump-stillness, or even one Ofhis edges; none knows where his body will end, Or what it is stamped with This moment: agate, Nova-burst earthworm Owl feather. Sound off, sleepers, Headless singers. One. One, two: Sound off. Not knowing where your tombs Already lie, assemble, sail through The lifted spaces, unburied. Meadow Bridge There might be working some kind ofthrowaway Meditation on Being, just From what I am looking at Right here. I can't tell, myself.' But it may already have happened When I batted my eyea new fix Ofsun lined out, squaring off: a fresh Steel bridge, exactly true To a crosscut ofstarkness And silver. Tell me: why do I want To put over it, the right hand drawing Inexhaustibly drawing Meadow Bridge / 457 ...

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