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The trees and I stood on the hill
With the even wind from the west,
Still enough and here enough
To be taken as landscape
By the resident crows in the snag,
Gurgling calmly pinnacled.
Sheaves of sunlight leaned
Against heaven over the valley.
The dogs slept on their sides
In the flattened grasses.
Nothing else happened.
I'd call it a lucrative day.
