A winter evening at the cottage by the bay,
And I sat in the black and gold of the dead garden
Wrapped in blankets, eating my sister's suet pudding.
The fountain was wrapped in dirty straw and
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The first morning after anyone's death, is it important
To know that fields are wet, that the governess is
Naked but with a scarf still covering her head, that
...
The snow fence could be seen
leaving a woman who's eating cold noodles.
It's not made of abandoned bee boxes
...
The Baltic Sea froze in 1307. Birds flew north
From the Mediterranean in early January.
There were meteor storms throughout Europe.
...
Our clothes are still wet from wading
The Chickamunga last evening.
There is heavy frost. We have
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The morning's mail rises up the stairwell
with its simple breakfast; postage from Gambia
rivaling the khaki toast and jam, pomegranate
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The bears are kept by hundreds within fences, are fed cracked
Eggs; the weakest are
Slaughtered and fed to the others after being scented
With the blood of deer brought to the pastures by Elizabeth's
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The illegal ditch riders of the previous night
Will deliver ice today.
The barbers up in the trees are Chinese.
They climb with bright cleats, bearing machetes—
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Loosening spiders across the inert baritone
of transfictional time,
he describes the exact absence
of moment in equilibrium,
...
I remember the death, in Russia,
of postage stamps
like immense museum masterpieces
...