1962
6.136
16.v.25
I know this
dark
the rain falls through
how we are slept so far
weather dwelling
thing bitten to be
a rattling dim unwitting
days in it
strings for the wind out of doors
Payne’s grey anvil for sky
my intimate unbright
the instrument of everything
a sure and certain doxa
healing up the tree inside
the guts thereof and I forget
where I’m forgotten
I know this dark
don’t you?
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