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But her eye would still see up into the ground above her, still see the upper air —Let her lie down now, snake in her hole, house snake in her hold. Little house Little house clay house thousands of funeral smell ground swell we knew the boat of right action but the road rubbed out —water gone! —the dead girl gone! (was she pregnant?) dishes blew by I searched my hollows rubble Burnt grass teach me before I forget you into a time when I sit and roar over the flowers and don’t know them new poems 37 ...

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