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4 To A Poet for Maxine Kumin You never found comfort in doctrine but in the winter coats of your horses and in the climbing tendrils of your beans all making their way into the strict lines to which I now return You set the cool spring trail ride on Amanda alongside the slaughterer’s bullet slamming sidelong You set the body swimming in the pond, mind dissolving and shucking off its burden You let the woman lie down with the bear and migrate with the arctic caribou Your anguish in aligning loss with love became metrical protests as a gorgeous May afternoon enters every window of the house where someone is sick and someone is reading to the sick and someone makes supper using every language available to say nourishment, mystery, wisdom, and I will sleep on the floor in your room ...

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