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wanting him alive, not wanting him dead. Their knees grind over the sea and make malice. What is love? What does love do. Home Breath entering, leaving the leaf, the lion tense on the branch luxuriant, the ten-foot drop to the water-hole, the God-taste —that’s what lights it up, Nature, and Art: your skin feather to feather scale to scale to my skin and the airy sleep, like wine . . . two soft old children’s books with the red and blue and green crayons still warm on us. Long Irish Summer Day A lorry scatters hay down the road red as blood. Down by Tommy Flynn’s a young man is sowing in the ten o’clock sunset sowing salt tears on the road —not for the ice, we already have sand. growing darkness, growing light 229 Sun and moon shine into our glass room, two countries, two cities, two glass houses: a shotgun is hanging on the wall. * Dog Skin Coat in memory of Lynda Hull Lynda, the third, last time we talked we talked about Mandelstam’s yellow leather coat —you told me “it was dog skin.” Ghost money, star ledger, I’m hanging his yellow coat up here on your coffin-door: They’d skin a dog for a coat, but why skin you? Why skin a car? Red open boat, why you? Three nights after you died I dreamed we were thrown out of a car. I said, “Lynda, come on, get over to the side.” You laughed, the way you’d laugh to a child, you said “You only want to drink the gasoline.” 230 door in the mountain ...

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