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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 out ofthe left, a vibration Ofthreads? This also, beholders, Is a fact: gauze Burns off, keeps coming: the bridge breaks through anything I can pull from my hand. No matter how I brim, there is No softening. Field, what hope? TombStone This place named you, And what business I have here Is what I think it is And only that. I must ask you, though, not to fall Any farther, and to forgive me For coming here, as I keep doing, as I have done For a while in a vertical body That breathes the rectangular solitude Risen over you. I want time to tell the others Not to come, for I understand Now, that deep enough In death, the earth becomes Absolute earth. Hold all there is: hold on And forgive, while I tell them as I tell Myselfwhere I stand: Don't let a breast Echo, because ofa foot. Pass, human step. The Eagl~s Mile / 458 ...

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