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Earth
is dark where you rest
Though a little winter grass
Glistens in icy furrows.
There, cautious, as I pass,
Squirrels
run, leaving stains
Of their nervous, minute feet
Over the tombs; and near them
Birds grey and gravely sweet.
I
have come, warm of breath,
To sustain unbodied cold,
Removed from life and seeking
Darkness where flesh is old,
Flesh
old and summer waxing,
Quick eye in the sunny lime,
Sweet apricots in silence
Falling—precious in time,
All
radiant as a voice, deep
As their oblivion. Only as I may,
I come, remember, wait,
Ignorant in grief, yet stay.
What
you are will outlast
The warm variety of risk,
Caught in the wide, implacable,
Clear gaze of the basilisk.
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