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Kate Camp

How fine it is to be surround by wood


What nets I need unknown inside this sea of numb
As those before bore tackles, tools and gear.
Against the coldest skies my silhouette, that crow
That hoarse incompetence of body
Scratch out its meanings at a mumbled distance
As cranes’ dumb semaphores across the city.
The day was question, no living man could answer.
The night, the mark, the snake ate up its young.

Awake, in the warm, close coffin of the present.
How fine it is to be surround by wood!
I will take these window panes and swallow each
A lozenge of the world, I will take these sour bears.
I dream you are become a bottle, me the milk.
I dream you are an Eskimo and build our home from sea.



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