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what I thought was wrong with me with you was not wrong now gates in the dark at thy name hinge Under the gold Under the gold and chalk and brick, beside the rowers on the river, the black lines lived around my crayon bones. One line. And then my heart shut down, even so, inside the lines. I rode out of the sorrowfence blue twine-tied gate into the river grass . . . The Windows Funeral dream “We’ll put them all down in the great book of sleep.” “You may be dead but Don’t stop loving me.” In memory “Don’t hold yourself cheap.” new poems 11 All the windows came to him in tears. The chestnut tree by the North River. Its tears. Dream A bricklayer. Your father. Dream “If you shoot someone I will walk out on the ocean floor and throw the gun away.” Dream “When I am of doubt . . .” Dream “Go clear.” Go Clear Go clear he said his high gray 19th c. postmortem jaw I loved it its high grayness go clear no touch but words no more death fear I swam out of the streaming ikon eyes who loved me: not-me: no more care I left the clothes standing there I swam into swarming projectless air redemptionless from under the earth to over the earth air to not air 12 door in the mountain ...

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