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Eclipse of the Moon

Put him in a place where he will not find me,
Put the rotten past behind me,
Put friends and family in a mood where they will not mind me
Hooray, and up she rises,
Hooray, and up she rises,
Hooray, and up she rises,
Early in the morning.
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the pastels used by Mary Cassatt
(on view at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)
wrapped up in silk
personal, sweet
civil as dancers‘feet
rose, blue, and milk
feeling of dance
feeling of ?just to be?
as if eternity
were substance
burrowed in dust
soft, yet hard
as the illusions they charred
perfect with trust
patient fingers
rest in pale rows
eternity goes
mortality lingers
and, at home,
I, working for all I‘m worth,
find my hands black with earth
and eternity come
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Here
the best thing‘s to be quiet and listen.
the hush-hush of tires in the rain,
the saying rain, word for word
into the rhododendron.
the sound that‘s a color of pleasant flesh
passing by pleasant flesh.
the crows at 4:30 cawing, ?some place else.?
those other things you want
aren‘t here. violent attachments,
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