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ISSUE:  Fall 2014

He walks back from the
                                         window in half-shadow

a half-shade himself
                                         who first called them shades

who people the place
                                         bereft of long life

he comes back he feels
                                         with the fingers of one

hand the soft hem bed’s
                                         high edge to settle

back my father now
                                         his bed his home or

we are walking now
                                         he is walking carrying

me under starlight
                                         under willows swept

with high wind crickets
                                         two whip-poor-wills far

like two bells one bell
                                         across the night hills

these long hills I am
                                         so tired he thinks

I am sleeping who
                                         peoples the night river

riffle of water here
                                         over the newest stones

in the river all night
                                         to the other side

okay he says at
                                         last or I say okay go

to sleep old man and
                                         when you waken on

the other side I’ll
                                         be there we’re there now

see our shadows where
                                         they have been waiting

as long as we’ve been here—

 

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