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48 The Apple When the apple fell from the tree, or did I fall from the tree, the sun was ablaze with honeybees, the lake blistered with blowing snow. A nuthatch sliding upside down, the sky was ground, the ground was cloud, and all around me I forgot and misery was my reverie. Regret, yes, that old swamp, regret and yet, for what— let go let go the whirlpool said, come back come back, pled the passing flood and I was lost, one foot in each. Rain will fall some better place, some beach without a roar, with a rock to lay my head against, a place I know no more. Young_FinalTextRev.indb 48 7/22/19 1:00 PM ...

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Additional Information

ISBN
9780813177854
Related ISBN
9780813177847
MARC Record
OCLC
1110689205
Pages
72
Launched on MUSE
2019-08-15
Language
English
Open Access
No
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