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The King You take the card of your self out at the green crossroads, you pull your name close around you. But whose words are you speaking? Whose money is this? Your warm mouth on my mouth stuns me, your hand on my breast is so bright, I have to shut my eyes . . . Still I won’t take the card you offer, though its coin is highly prized, and its coin is wild, —its coin is “Mine be mine,” its coin is “And I will love you then,” its coin was death to the thirsty child not heard but drowned in the deep sea . . . High School Boyfriend You were willing to like me, and I did something, and blew it, and your liking me would have saved me, and my liking you would have saved you, that was the circle I was walking around, pushing a bar that moved a wheel down in the dark, holding my breath, naked in a long hard army coat of you, hating my feet, hating my path . . . 178 door in the mountain Today my tongue is a fish’s tongue, kissing my friend’s light breastbone, his chestnut down; full of tears, full of light, half both, nowhere near my old home: no one anywhere is so wrong. Tonight I Can Write. . . after Pablo Neruda Tonight I can write the lightest lines. Write, for example, ‘The evening is warm and the white mist holds our houses close.’ The little evening wind walks in the field grass and hums into her own chest. Tonight I can write the lightest lines. I love him, and I think he loves me too. He first came to me on an evening like this one and held me in his arms. He kissed me again and again then, under the motherly bending down stars. He loves me, and I think I love him too. How could one not love his calm eyes, as blue as the earth. Tonight I can write the lightest lines. To think that I did not know him, that now I am beginning to know him. To feel the warm lamplight: soon it will warm his brown arm. ‘And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture . . . ’ home.deep.blue 179 ...

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