Largo

Now the rain
Now the seams put in evening
Now the tree seeming shakes out
of felt unfolds cleanly

If in falling rain names what it touches
If beneath the tree a dry radius describes
form steps forward wearing its suit of summer's dust

A quietus
My ear on his chest where rest hems breath with thread
until being is everywhere an edge a cloth's
periphery pinned with rocks & we under


look up dry out the light turn
sleep to costume Now the sleeves
Now clean buttons to shut our eyes
Now our each seam gleams

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