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Out of the range of men
Of the things they do
Alive in the silent woods
Known only by my tracks
Through the clean deep snow
Struggling in the lavender dusk
To find in the shadow of the earth
Those few glittering souls
Lost telling myself
Not yet
Nights
When the bone-white moon
Lifts out of the trees
And falls back again
Through the cabin window
To lie in the jar of water
Set out on the desk
And I drink again.
