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Orioles after rain in evening woods,
unseen in the drip and the vanishing gleam,
their brief songs as round and polished
as pearls in oil, a comfort in the dusk,
close by and staying, sharing together
the coming of night, close by and singing,
accepting my presence as i accept theirs,
but however we long to speak to each other
we can not know of each other's sorrow
except in the sense of all living things
guessed at in the dark and the parting.
