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LAST MOTH BEFORE WINTER
- University Press of Colorado
- Chapter
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48 LAST MOTH BEFORE WINTER Here is where your guardian appears Hovering above the pale morning grass, Shadows long and feeble between dark clouds And in its hovering it faces always the light, Little arms of fire, little whirring, You are almost white, when I cup my fingers You do not come near me now as you did years ago Giving me something to long for that I long for still, little trial, whose wings Brush against us, we who hear the words In your departure ...