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what it wants, it wants
to fill the woods,
the wind knows
what it wants, it moans
on the hill like a loud lover,
the ice knows
what it wants, it traces
the scars on the pane
with its crystal tongue,
the trees waving their legs in the air,
the air an instrument of the tongue,
the tongue an instrument of the body,
the body an instrument of the spirit,
the spirit a being of the air.
–with four climactic lines by Robert Pinsky
