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| Goldenrod in a wet dusk |
Picking the last of the blackberries
in a wet dusk between storms
we agree to keep the talk light
tending the wounds we have
in the time we have
rib-deep in goldenrod
surrounded by rain
By rain by rain and rising wind
that wear these ridges down
soaked to the shoulders and knees
in vanishing light in rain in wind
that throw the crows upon the sky
and lave the poor of spirit
on the gilded ground.
