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169 george f. But teriCk Gurleyville Road Gurleyville Road peels apart as it blends to Wormwood Hill after rain. In the cleft of the road grows grass, grows soft and to one side sloughs off, the soft head of Mansfield pierced by inessential use. After the rain the stone gleams: the limits are not within. The heart unknits the skull. The air sweeps herself up, the road also lifts dry at the edges of my need. It is travelable this far, won’t you come? The moaning of the meadows, full, on their shelves along the roads. The roaring like a sea beyond. Look out upon hills the color of blue smoke; send eyes out like doves from the ark. ...

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